A Tale of a Tail
by birdwoman95
Summary: An AU kicking off mostly from where Hagrid picks up Harry, though he's very AU. Some OC, but mostly just independent Harry. No pairings. Rating for some languageish things. Writing is complete, but will add one chapter a week, when I remember to (only 5 or 6 long, can't remember which).
1. Chapter 1

"A tale of a tail" canonish events, trite situations, and probably nothing you've not read before. Whole story is written, but I'm trying this "chapter" thing this time, cause it's kinda long. Except for this intro chapter. It's really short. No real bashing, though I'm not a huge fan of some of the major characters. Independent (kind of) harry. No pairings. Changes begin when Hagrid picks Harry up…

* * *

There once was a small boy who lived in a cupboard. That sounds like a fantastic beginning to a fantastical kind of story, right? And of course, the evil people who put him in that cupboard, they can't ever be nice to him. No matter how you've heard this story before, know this: he was abused. Abuse might even be too clean of a word for it. Believe me, these folks, the Dursleys (isn't that a horrid name?) had no problem using the rod and beating the child. Even when they weren't physically whacking him, they were verbally castigating him. These "people" who were in charge of him - they were supposed to be his aunt and uncle - they constantly berated him, his actions, his person, his parentage. They didn't call him by name; a name's too good for a freak like him. As he carried out all of the household drudgery – and I mean ALL: he was the Dursley's unpaid cook, butler, maid, landscaper, etc - they constantly reminded him that his effort always falls short and always will. He's worthless. They didn't allow him to have any possessions – even the underclothes he wore were their rags, not his. He was allowed to use these only to cover his freakishness.

To overcome all this loveliness, that little boy'd learnt to be sneaky. He decided early that he would have things, even if they were things that other people threw away. When he found his name – Harry Potter – he practiced writing it in dirt, in dust. He was Harry Potter. And he was NOT what they were. He had some things that were his, if his captors didn't know it.

This boy was born with a big heart, and as a baby, he had felt all the love in the world. But when he had been dumped with the Dursleys, his world became dark and cold. His innate heart and happiness were still there, but they didn't have much call to be used. Also, his relatives punished him if he was happy – so he'd learnt not to wear his heart on his sleeve. He was quite smart – just as his parents had been before him, though he didn't know that. The Dursleys, however, were dumb. He wanted to be what they were not, so smart was necessary. He started to write more in the dust and dirt, practicing his reading and his maths – if his dumb cousin couldn't do it, Harry would.

Even his teachers didn't realize how smart Harry was, because when they realized it, and rewarded him for it, he got punished by the Dumb Dursleys.

He took to hiding out in library; he was quiet so the librarian wouldn't notice him. On rare occasions, he's been able to find "treasures" that the Dursleys didn't know he had. He acquired two small chalkboards that neighborhood kids had thrown out, even though they were in perfect condition. He took the boards apart, keeping only the slate. Paper and pencils or pens were hard to come by, and even if they had come from a completely different source, Petunia, the "mother" of the family, would take them from Harry, saying he didn't deserve paper or pencils or pens. Chalk was easy to come by – he just stole it from his teachers. He could practice maths and writing and drawing in his cupboard, especially after he learned how to make it so they couldn't tell he had the light on in there.

Pilfering also became second hand. He was very nimble of finger by necessity. Things like food and socks were easy to steal. And he stole. He had to. He also stole books. When he was done, he'd return them. But he wasn't allowed a library card.

His only friends were a pair of ravens – he called them Annabelle and Edgar. They had stayed in the tree overlooking the yard of the house where he was kept. They watched as he did yard work. After a time they drifted closer, so he began to talk with them. In the library, he learned that ravens and crows of all manner liked shiny things, so when he found bits of glass or metal, he'd offer them to his friends. Over time, they seem to almost understand him, and when no one was around, would even land on his shoulders and preen his hair, which was as black as their feathers. He would ask their advice on different plans – what he would do when he finally escaped from his prison – and they would approve or disapprove. Or perhaps that was just his imagination.

After a few years, a fourth member joined his little group. Down the street and around the corner, a woman named Arabella Figg lived. She was – even to Harry – quite strange. Just the mention of her name brought a sneer to and a sniff from Petunia Dursley's face, perhaps even faster than the mention of her nephew did. Mrs. Figg was one of those "crazy cat ladies." She had dozens of cats, and they were strange – always sneaking round the neighborhood and peeping in people's windows. One kitten in particular – a pure black cat who had a tail that almost seemed like a lion's – had seemed to take a shine to Harry. Perhaps it was because he had eyes the same color as Harry – vivid green. The cat lady called the cat Beelzebub, claiming him to be a devil – Harry called him Bub and assured the cat that he was not a devil.

Of course, the Dursleys: Vernon, Petunia, and their horrifically fat, spoiled, and beastly son Dudley hated the cat. But Bub was incredibly clever. He and the ravens knew, almost innately, how to find Harry when he would manage to escape to a hidden park. They had even helped Harry find some of his best hiding spots from his ghastly cousin. You see, Dudley had also learnt his lessons from his parents well: Harry was meant to be abused at all times. Dudley was not smart about it; bullies don't need to be smart. They just need to be mean as spit. That, Dudley achieved. The students at the primary school were terrified of Dudley and his gang of thugs, and the students were very grateful that Harry existed to take the attention of said delinquents. "Harry Hunting" was a game these hooligans came up with – not much imagination to it, but it was extremely satisfying to them, nonetheless. Surrounding and beating a child who is smaller than you is something that only brainless low-lifes could enjoy. Dudley and his gang didn't quite make it up to the mark of brainless low-lifes.

In the summer Harry turned eleven, a rather strange thing occurred. Harry received a letter. Well, he didn't actually receive it. It was addressed to him, and upon seeing it, Vernon Dursley destroyed it. Strangely, this destruction was not the end of the matter. Within days, there were hundreds of letters being delivered – all of them addressed to Mr. H. Potter, Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. Of course, they also had the room he slept in – that boot cupboard – but Vernon was so shocked by the sight of the letters on the strange paper with the wax on the back that he didn't take in the details, at first. When Petunia noted the address, she gasped that "they" must be watching, whoever they were. And plans were made to confine Harry to the smallest bedroom in the house, instead of the cupboard.

After days of trying to destroy the letters, Vernon decided to leave the house on an unplanned vacation. First, they went to an hotel, but the letters followed. Then, the family, a somewhat amused Harry in tow, went to an island off the coast, simply to avoid letters.

No letters came.

Instead, a giant of a man, introducing himself as Rubeus Hagrid, came. He stated he was "keeper of the keys at Hogwarts," whatever that might be. He told Harry that Harry was, in fact, magical. A wizard. Harry wouldn't have quite believed it, no matter the accidental magic he'd cast in the past. Magic didn't exist. Everyone, even the Dursleys, knew that. But then the Dursleys got Hagrid mad. And Harry knew that would spell trouble for him. If this man who was trying to take Harry hurt a Dursley? Harry might as well write his epitaph now.

So, when Hagrid tried to curse Dudley, for being a little pig, Harry stepped in the way. He didn't want magic to hurt the Dursleys because they'd take it out on him. He figured he'd got them in his debt now, in a way.

The giant of a man looked ready to wet himself, he was so scared. Harry had no idea that this Hagrid might be in trouble for hurting Harry. After all, all of his remembered life, Harry had been the goatiest of scapegoats, the most ocular of bulls-eyes. He was everyone's favorite target, and no one ever regretted hurting Harry, in any way. So when Hagrid was practically in tears and a panic sweat, Harry took charge.

"Calm down, Mr. Hagrid. It's okay. Isn't there a way we can fix this? No one really needs to know. I mean, if you put it there, you can take it away, right?"

Hagrid stood, wringing his hands. Dudley was torn between laughing at Harry's predicament and trying to hide his massive bulk behind his parents, lest the weird man do something even worse than giving a pig's tail to him.

Eventually, the big man agreed. Sure, he could get the tail fixed. He pulled Harry none-too-gently from the cabin on the rock in the sea and, talking a great deal to himself, going back and forth on possibilities and possible horrific outcomes, Hagrid got himself and Harry back to the mainland.

He then proceeded to seat Harry in the sidecar of a somehow-familiar motorcycle. The déjà vu kicked in completely when the motorcycle began to fly across country. Hagrid kept muttering the entire ride.

Harry had, over the years, developed a method of eavesdropping to find out which way the wind blew. He had almost a sixth sense of figuring out what an adult thought from their looks and mumblings. He used this skill now.

He took from Hagrid's mutterings that his parents had been rather important, someone had killed them, tried to kill him, and he had lived. Somehow, this living had made him a Boy Who Lived (he could almost hear the capitals in the title) and him being hurt by Hagrid would be a Very Bad Thing for Hagrid. Apparently, lots of folks thought the Boy Who Lived was important.

Harry wondered where they'd been the rest of his life.

Eventually, Hagrid's motorcycle, with Harry in the sidecar, pulled up in front of a house in London. "Me friend Astrid and her husband Robbie live here, Harry. Just a hop skip and a jump from Digon. I thinks Astrid can fix yeh up, proper like." He was almost calm at this point, only twitching a bit when Harry's tail got caught in the sidecar. Harry laughed, though. Really, the situation was quite ridiculous!

Astrid, it turned out, was a healer – a magical doctor of sorts. She knew Hagrid as the groundskeeper from when she was at Hogwarts – the school that Harry was invited to attend. And, of course, she could reverse Hagrid's accidental magic. Shaking her head, she thought to herself that only Hagrid could get into that kind of trouble: introducing a muggle-raised to the magical world and accidentally cursing the lad. Poor Hagrid. She asked the gentle giant to wait in a different room, as his nervousness might impede the fixing.

When they were alone in the healing room, Astrid looked at the boy then did a double take. This wasn't any Tom, Dick, or Harry. This was THE Harry. Harry Potter. But what's this? He was dressed in rags, had bruises, and was way too small for his age.

Harry noticed the double-take that confirmed she knew him, or knew of him, from his scar. She was also very angry. This worried Harry, as angry adults usually meant a bruised Harry. At best.

Disguising her anger the best she could, she set about trying to calm the child.

"My name is Healer Astrid Stenwick. You can call me Miss Astrid, if you like. I'd like to do some simple spells, just to see the best way to go about… errr… de-tailing you. Is that okay?"

Harry cautiously smiled and nodded. Maybe she wasn't mad at him, after all.

Astrid cast her spells. She cast them again. The results were not as she expected: Curses, compulsions, hexes, and for Morgana's sake bindings on his magical core. Multiple bindings! Unheard of! Monstrous! There was also some sort of dark magic in the scar and some sort of magical lasso, for lack of better term, that seemed to be routed toward the west.

This child needed her help. Hagrid, though her friend and a wonderful source for rare potions ingredients, was not the kind of person who should be introducing a child to the magical world. Let alone THIS child! She didn't know the situation, but she thought she might know some of the ramifications. This kid had some hard luck: some of it from the loss of his parents, but it seemed that much of it was planned by another, powerful wizard. Making sure to get the signature on all the spells, a thought struck her. He needed better luck.

"I'm going to ask you to take this potion," she said, handing a glass vial to Harry. "It's called liquid luck. Not many can brew it – I can, though. Once in a while, I have a patient who needs more than I can give him or her. You're it, today. This is my last dose, in fact, so maybe you're already in a bit of luck!"

He drank it down, and before he finished, his eyes brightened.

"Now, Mr. Potter, I would like to do an overpowered finite on your tail, do you think I should do that?"

He wondered why she would ask him, then he realized that it seemed like a wonderful thing to do. So, once again, he smiled and nodded. She proceeded to do so.

This caused the tail to disappear, but it also weakened the bindings on his magic and cancelled the curses, hexes, and compulsions placed on him. The result was a magical maelstrom. It was as though someone had let a giant electric bolt loose in the room and it zapped right through the poor kid. His hair stood on end, his muscles all contracted and relaxed and contracted again. His skin rippled and his joints seemed to pop. It was, for both healer and patient, quite a bit scary.

But.

Luck was on his side. It was, in fact, coursing through his veins. And now, as all those bindings weakened, Luck (the good twin, anyhow), that fickle, whimsical partner who had always eluded Harry, entered, stage left. It was show time.

Harry had always been clever, but now his magic – which was really quite strong having been forced to grow to care for him, even when it was bound – would now be gradually released. As other bonds broke, his talents were optimized. From his mother he now had an eidetic memory. He didn't know it, but this would help with charms, since they're a lot of memorization as well as theory. He would also be good with numbers – maths for the non-magical side and arithmancy from the magical one. From his dad's genetics (from the Blacks, really), he has inherited innate skills in transfiguration. Even self-transfiguration would be easier for him. Also inherited from his father's side is understanding of runes. The Potter family had been warders until James because James didn't get the full runic ability from his own dad. Harry did. These magics had been there before, but now, with luck added as the bindings were nicked, they would strengthen and optimize over the next few years as the magic released.

While Harry was "healing" – or recovering from the healing, Astrid processed the rest of his medical evaluation. She was thoroughly incensed when she saw the extent of the malnutrition and all of his poorly-healed bones.

Harry, always attuned to anger in adults, quietly asked if he had done something wrong. She smiled at him.

"No, young man. I'd say you've had great wrong done to you, though."

Realizing that she knew what had been done to him, he begged her not to say anything. After all, he had lived with it, was about to escape from it, and had no need to broadcast this situation to a world that already, apparently, would be watching his every move (and gossiping about them, also).

Astrid agreed, but only if he agreed to stop by later in the day for his immunizations. She'd give him the any jabs he needed then, along with nutritional and growth supplements. Harry nodded.

"Go get a long, hot shower. Take your time. I'll get these clothes clean while you do so."

Astrid shook her head as she looked at the rags the Boy Who Lived wore. After taking magical picture of the clothing, she decided to fix them up. She cleaned them with lots of gentle scourgifies. These clothes were not new, but very, very worn. Why didn't he wear better? She wondered. Then, she answered her own question. Since they didn't feed him, they probably didn't clothe him, either. She wouldn't be surprised if these were his only clothes. She'd shrink them to fit better, but didn't know if they'd survive the charm. She was very glad she gave the kid an entire dose of liquid luck. He'd need it.

Calling her elf, she prepared as well as she could to get the Boy Who Lived off to a good start in the magical world.

Harry came out, toweling his hair and wearing his clean clothes. He smiled at Astrid.

"Before Hagrid comes back, I have something for you." She handed a lunch bag. "This is a stasis bag. It keeps food at proper temp, keeps it fresh, and doesn't allow it to be damaged – I've filled it. You eat when you're hungry. This is in case Hagrid forgets to feed you. Also," she handed him three potion vials, "These are for you. They are an appetite enhancer, nutrient absorber, and growth encouragement potion. The absorber should be taken three times a day, so you get maximum nutrition from all of your food." As he drank the potions, she put two more of the absorber in the stasis bag. "Make sure you sneak one before lunch, okay?" He smiled and nodded, shyly. "By the end of the day, I'll have enough potions for you to last for a few months. Now, I have something serious that I want to talk to you about. The people you're staying with, they don't feed you much, right?" Harry's face closed off; he really didn't want to talk about that. "I understand. You don't want to talk about it. But here's the deal. We need to find a way to get you food while you're with them. If we schedule treatments, starting next summer, we can regrow your skeleton in parts. That will fix all of the bad breaks and weak spots. After a year of nutrition, you'll be able to regrow a skeleton that you're supposed to have. What do you say? It can be our secret." As he thought about it, luck gave Harry the final nudge, and he nodded. He hated the idea of needing the potions and regrowing his skeleton, but he really liked the idea of growing, so he nodded. A place to hide food went on his mental shopping list.

Walking Harry to the kitchen, Astrid invited Hagrid back with them. There, on the table, was a breakfast for kings. While Hagrid and Harry feasted, Astrid spoke.

"Well, Rubeus Hagrid, I'll keep the secret of what happened if you promises 3 things: take the child to whatever stores he wants today – it's his birthday, so you let him pick what he wants, tell NO ONE what I did, and finally, since Mr. Potter needs immunizations which will tire him out, you should drop kid off with me at the end of the day."

Hagrid looked up from his plate. "I promised Dumbledore I'd get Harry back to the muggles," he said uncertainly.

"Hagrid, you know I'm better in the muggle world than you are, and I don't think those muggles are going to want to see hide nor hair of you again. Why don't you let me take him home," she reasoned.

Hagrid nodded, sopping up egg yolk with toast.

In due time, Harry left that flat clean, full, and happy. Waving goodbye to Astrid, he followed Hagrid down the street with a spring in his step. He'd been told the next stop was Diagon Alley, just a short walk away, and he just felt like that would be a great place to go.


	2. Chapter 2

(beginning of the ubiquitous shopping spree - required gringotts visit included - and my own conversion of wizarding money to muggle currency. If it bugs you that I've changed things or done the same as every other fic writer, I've got to say: lighten up. It's just fiction about fiction. It's not required reading.)

* * *

It was still early morning when Harry and Hagrid walked down Charing Cross road. As Hagrid escorted Harry through a sleepy inn called the Leaky Cauldron, Harry learned the basics of the wizarding money, and his newly-sharpened mind caught the details quickly. Gold Galleons were worth about 50 pounds, silver sickles were worth about 20 pounds, and a bronze knut was worth about a pound. Today, anyhow. Those exchange rates could –and did – change. But that was the general value.

They entered a dingy pub by the name of the Leaky Cauldron. The patrons stared, whispered, pointed, and then mobbed. Hagrid eventually got them off of Harry, but not before Harry was inwardly cursing his new-found fame.

He thought being famous might be better than being infamous, but it was shaping up to be just as painful, he thought, as he brushed off his clothes again. Hagrid apologized profusely for not better shielding Harry, then simply opened the back wall (really, he opened the WALL) to the magical shopping district.

"Welcome, Harry, to Diagon Alley!"

At the alley, the pair first went to Gringotts, the goblin-run bank.

A goblin (grey-green hued beings, shorter than a man, but with shark-like teeth that just dared a moron to cross them) by the name of Griphook took Harry and Hagrid through a three-dimensional maze of tunnels, barreling through them in a rickety-looking cart that had Hagrid turning greener than Griphook. Eventually stopping at Harry's vault, Hagrid gave Griphook the key and lowered his giant head between his knees.

"Mr. Griphook, sir," Harry asked as he looked at the piles of silver and gold in his vault, "does the amount of money in here ever change? I know in my uncle's bank, they have interest. Do you have that?"

"This is a trust vault – it has a set amount that you are allowed to spend until such time as you take over the Potter estate. The main Potter vault is an interest accruing vault."

"Is there any kind of statement that I should expect? Can I see if anything's been removed from my accounts since my parents' deaths?"

"We can show you the ledger when you get back up above ground, Mr. Potter," Griphook answered with barely concealed impatience.

Since this money would be the same if it were in his pocket or in his vault, Harry decided to take as much as he could carry. "Sir, is there any kind of… magic wallet? I don't want my gold to be stolen by someone else."

"We have blood and magic sealed bags that we will lease to you for a fee of 1G per annum." Harry agreed, handed over the galleon in exchange for a bag that seemed to bite him the first time he put his hand in. He wondered at the blood and magic, but figured these goblins knew their stuff or they wouldn't be trusted with wizarding money.

Quickly filling the pouch with a great deal of gold, silver, and bronze (and it never seemed to weigh more, interestingly), Harry exited the vault and hopped back in the cart with Hagrid, who was looking even worse than he had when he realized he'd cursed Harry.

The cart took off again, passing through a series of steep hills and sharp turns at break-neck speeds. Harry was thrilled.

Hagrid, who had already had a terrible morning and no sleep the night before, looked as though he could pass out at any moment. The cart jerked to a sudden stop.

"Vault 713," Griphook announced. Hagrid lumbered out of the cart as Griphook did some sort of goblin dance to open the vault.

After listening to a dire warning about theft and goblin justice from Griphook, Harry watched Hagrid remove a small, dirty package from the vault. With visible reluctance, Hagrid trudged back to the cart.

"Yer sure this thing don't go no slower?" Hagrid asked, mopping his brow.

Griphook grinned, then pushed a lever to make the cart speed up.

Harry almost whooped with exhilaration as the cart crested a hill and rounded a steep curve. He was sure this was better than any roller coaster in the non-magical world.

One look at Hagrid showed he didn't agree.

The cart swooped back to ground level, and Harry told Hagrid he needed to exchange some galleons for muggle money. Hagrid said he'd wait outside as he needed a breath of air, anyway. He told Harry to take his time. Harry nodded, knowing he wanted to see his ledger, and this would be a good opportunity to find out more about his finances.

Griphook escorted Harry to an office where another goblin, whose nameplate announced him to be Grimsneer, waited.

"Mr. Potter. I understand you have questions about your legacy?" the goblin growled, not waiting for the door to even close behind Griphook.

"Mr. Grimsneer?" Harry asked.

"Just Grimsneer," the goblin corrected.

"I apologize. I've never heard of magic before today. Someone I don't know had possession of the key to the vault. I'd like to see what my parents left, if anything has been removed from the vault – coin or anything else. And I'd like to know what is expected of me as your client."

Grimsneer's face broadcast his name. He didn't have time for humans, let alone puny humans. But this one was a client. He'd ordered the ledger and now opened it to show that nothing had been touched…

Only to find that it had.

Not showing anything but sternness, Grimsneer pointed out the deductions to Harry.

"This shows that there have been, indeed, several mid-sized withdrawals since your parents' demise and one very large withdrawal, ten years ago. Other than that, no money is missing. Because of that, however, we will need to do a full audit of your vaults. We will also, as a courtesy, have both vaults re-keyed and one new key issued to you. It will be ready by the end of the day."

"How does a person go about getting back into a vault if they've lost their key, sir?"

"Blood will tell, Mr. Potter. All family vaults have blood magic embedded in them. This is also way that long abandoned vaults are sometimes claimed – an unknown heir has a blood test and it links to an old vault."

"Do you know if my mother ever had this test?"

"She did not."

"Well, then, I'd like the test, please, depending on the cost."

"The test is 5 Galleons," Grimsneer stated with a… well, grim sneer.

"To claim my own money? I cannot possibly pay more than 2 Galleons," Harry insisted. Normally, Harry would not have dreamed of arguing with an adult. But in this case, luck was telling him it was a good idea to haggle. So haggle, he did.

They came to the agreement of 3 galleons and one sickle, and for the first time, the goblin had what seemed to be pleasure on his face.

Of course, that might have been because he was going to get to stab a human and take its blood – even if it was only a stab with a tiny dagger, it was still a cut. And blood. Goblins, as everyone knows, love to spill human blood. The only thing they like more is to swindle someone out of treasure.

Grimsneer then took Harry to the conversion desk where he exchanged a few galleons for pounds. Putting it back into his pouch, he wondered if he would have a hard time getting Astrid to bring him back to get his new key. And once he got his key, how would he keep it away from the person who had it and stole from him? And what exactly was stolen? And who did it?

Exiting the bank, Harry looked around and found Hagrid hanging on to the edge of the building while all the other people monitored him suspiciously and gave him a wide-berth. It was quiet obvious that Hagrid'd been sick, between his nerves with what happened to Harry and the cart ride, he would be out for the morning. Harry didn't mind, he just wanted to quietly roam this new world with no thoughts of hooligans playing a new round of Harry Hunting.

"Well, Mr. Hagrid," he said quietly.

"Jus' Hagrid, 'arry," the man quietly corrected, slowly standing up straight.

"Where do you think we should go first?"

Hagrid had no desire to go into any store. So, he walked Harry a short way down the alley. "I reckon yeh can get yer wand first. Ollivander is the best fer wands, but his shop is… well its too small fer the likes o'me. You'll be okay in there. Go on in. I'll jes wait out here."

There was a convenient set of benches outside the wand shop (which proudly announced that it had been a maker of fine wands since 382 BC, to which Harry wondered if it still meant Before Christ and if wizards were Christians or maybe Jesus might have been a wizard? Water to wine sounded like magic to Harry!). Hagrid gingerly sat down and watched while Harry walked into the crowded shop.

Harry stood behind a child of about his height with intensely blond hair. He watched with fascination while one small girl stood getting measured by a tape that had no one wielding it, while a frenetic-looking old man mumbled nonsense aloud. As the man darted to and fro, pulling a few boxes off his shelves, the small blond boy started a conversation with Harry.

"Hogwarts this year?" he asked, baldly.

Seeing no reason not to be polite, Harry nodded. "You?"

"Of course. What house do you think you'll be in?"

Not having any idea what this meant, Harry was noncommittal, "Not sure."

"Well, none of us really is, but I'm going to be Slytherin. My whole family has been. Ravenclaw would be okay, but imagine getting Hufflepuff?" Harry just arched his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders.

"Your parents were the right kind, weren't they?" the boy asked with a sneer.

"They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean. I don't know much more. They died when I was a baby, and I've lived in the non-magical world ever since."

"Ahh," the boy sighed, obviously channeling an authority of his. Just then, the old wand maker rang up the girl who had gotten a wand of willow and mermaid hair – it was, apparently, quite springy – and turned to the blond.

"Young Mr. Malfoy, shall we?"

Harry watched the boy – Malfoy, he committed to memory - quickly get picked for a wand made of something called Hawthorne wood with a core of unicorn hair. As Malfoy left the shop and joined his obvious parents outside (and another, normal-looking family made their way into the tight space), Harry moved to the front of the line.

You may have heard of the matching of young Harry with his Holly and phoenix feather wand. It occurred here much the same as in other stories. The only difference is that now, the luck coursing through him pushed Harry to ask how to best care for the wand, so it won't get broken or stolen. Ollivander smiled, sold him a wand lore book, a polishing kit, and a holster for his arm. Ollivander, harried as he was with the obvious line, didn't have time to yammer on about expecting great things or any other such nonsense. And young Harry left the shop, new wand in new holster, hair firmly plastered on forehead, gearing himself up for more shopping and eager to see more magic.

"All done then? Well, best see to yer uniform, then. Madame Malkins it is," Hagrid stood gingerly, looking somewhat better having sat in the fresh-ish air while Harry got his wand. Hagrid had completely forgotten his promise to let Harry dictate their path until the boy tugged him in a different direction.

"Mr… er Hagrid, do you think we could go down there, instead? I really want to go down there." Harry pointed in a direction to which he had seen another normal-looking person go. He wasn't sure why these witches and wizards wore bathrobes, but he would rather follow the man who wore normal trousers.

"That way, eh? That's Abnorm Alley. Mostly muggleborn shops down there. S'okay I s'pose." They began to walk, and Hagrid seemed to find his balance again. "I don't normally have cause to come down here much. No reason muggleborn don't sell robes, I suppose," he rambled as they ambled into Abnorm.

Being typical males, neither wanted to shop for clothes, but Harry wisely thought he should probably order them first, since he needed everything. He felt himself being pulled down the street.

His luck pulling him in the direction, Harry entered a store called YWW – Young Witches and Wizards – to get kitted out. He had noticed that his deplorable clothes brought attention – people looked at him like he was the freak the Dursleys claimed he was.

Harry had no desire to be the posh prince the boy in the wand shop had been, but neither did he want to look like an American rock star or be confused with a tramp. He wanted to be middle of the road, nondescript in both worlds.

Just as he was trying to figure out how to be what he wanted, a young man approached him.

"My name is Dominic. Can I help you?" The helpful teen asked.

Harry looked up at him with a smile.

"I need help," Harry said, indicating his outfit.

"You surely do," Dominic said, then looked horrified that he said it out loud. Harry let out a big laugh.

"I have NO clothes. These are not mine. They're borrowed. I need EVERYTHING."

Dominic looked like he wanted to ask an awkward question as he noted the scar. But he held his tongue.

Instead, he asked, "OK, then, what is your style?"

Harry sighed. "I have no idea. See? I really need help!" They both smiled.

In the end, after questions about preference (button down or pullover? Do you like quiddich? Boxers, briefs, or boxer briefs?), most of which Harry had to have explained to him before he could answer, Harry ordered a sparse but varied wardrobe.

"So, to sum it up: conservative, but not stuffy. Athletic wear included. Magical and muggle wardrobe for all seasons from the tips of your toes to the crown of your head. N'est ce pas?"

"Sure," Harry agreed with a smile. "Say, do your clothes come with magic?"

"Do our clothes come with magic, he asks. Do ducks quack? Do chaps chafe? Of Course they come with magic! I would suggest growth charms, comfort charms, durability charms, and anti-theft enchantments. Those are the usual."

"So the clothes grow with me and don't wear out? That's a good bargain. Worth it, I'd say. And what about the hat?"

"The dreaded pointy hat? We don't sell them. This knit cap (lifting a watchman's cap from a shelf) comes in any color and with the tap of a wand turns into that black anachronism for the three or four feasts you're required to wear it. I mean, really. Tradition is all well and good, but a pointy cap?" Dominic shuddered, causing Harry to laugh again.

"OK, if you'll trust me, it will take about five hours to complete all of this. Oh, and you should stop in the cobblers next door and have them measure your feet. I'll get your footwear set up."

"How much will this all cost, do you think?"

"Oh, it shouldn't be much more than twelve or thirteen galleons, I don't think," Dominic offered, hoping this wouldn't be too much for the Boy Who Lived to part with.

Instead, Harry reached into his money pouch. 600 pounds for a complete wardrobe? Couldn't do that in the normal world!

"Brilliant. Here are six galleons, as a down payment. If you'll give me a receipt for this, I'll come back later to pick up my clothes."

Dominic smiled. "Buy a good trunk with a wardrobe compartment, sweetie. My clothes should be held in style."

Harry laughed and exited the shop with his escort in tow. Hagrid had stepped aside long ago, having no interest in clothes and seeing Harry was in good hands. They stopped briefly at the cobblers next door to get measured for shoes.

"Hagrid, Dominic said it will be five hours. Do you have a watch?"

"Nah. I always break 'em," Hagrid answered.

"Well, I need one, too. I'm just going to run in here," Harry pointed out a magical jeweler. Hagrid just shrugged, remembering his promise to Astrid.

Looking around the small, quiet store, Harry saw a watch for sale.

"What's this," he asked the woman behind the counter as she watched him, "and why is it marked down?"

"Well, the enchantments are fine: durability, GPS, automatic time correction, water proof, flame proof. Programmable for a few alarms. But the people who can afford this kind of enchantment want pocket watches. I learned that the hard way," she grumbled.

"I'll take it," Harry stated with a smile.

The jeweler looked at Harry's clothes, but then saw his scar and smiled.

"I'll box that right up," she said, ringing up the purchase on an old-fashioned cash register.

"No, thanks, I want to wear it. Say, can it be stolen easily?" Remembering that he still had to go back to the Dursley's, Harry was trying to find ways to protect all of his new, freakish possessions.

"Absolutely not!" The jeweler was adamant. "All of our pieces are made so that they can't be lifted by anyone except the person who put them on. They quickly tune to your magic, so after wear, even if you take them off, they can't be stolen. You have to re-enchant them if you want to give them away."

Harry grinned as he saw the solution to another problem: his Gringott's key. It would be safe on a chain no one else could lift. "If that's the case, could I also get a plain chain?"

As he pulled coins out of his pouch to pay, he asked conversationally, "What do you usually use the chains for?"

"Besides jewels, we also have these charms. They can be enchanted for specific protections, like a charm for a child so he can't get lost, or a charm for a squib so they can't be hexed. There are all sorts of charms." She accepted the correct change from him with a smile.

"Would they work on animals?" Harry asked, thinking that it would be nice to protect Bub, Belle, and Ed, just in case.

The jeweler, who introduced herself as Emma, smiled. "Yes, though we tend to sell more collar-like chains for them. Familiars are important in our society, and they make me a pretty penny." She pointed to a display of collars and harnesses that Harry hadn't noticed before.

"Can I have two harnesses for birds - ravens, and a cat collar? And, where do I get the charms enchanted?" He asked politely.

"I can do basic ones," Emma answered "and you can get more than one on a single charm, if they're not too complicated. This charm tends to be the most popular," she winked as she pointed out a lightning bolt, redolent of his own scar. "And generally, we get pest repelling, muggle repelling, and shielding charms. Most of my clients live in – or have contact with – the muggle world. So we have to hide our familiars. Of course, if you get the ones with the gems, it will hold more magic and protect from higher-level hexes." She was a saleswoman and saw a good sale here, so she pushed for the most she could.

Harry, however, was agreeing with everything she said. He wasn't going to be a hard sell, especially as these charms would protect his friends from the Dursleys.

"It sounds brilliant. I'll take the lightning bolts that have the diamonds on them, powered with all the spells you mentioned."

"You know, I can show you how to push your own magic into the shield. Otherwise, you'd have to come back here to renew the enchantment if it was ever used." Harry nodded eagerly and snapped out his wand from its holster, just as Ollivander had instructed. Emma showed him how to find his magical connection and power the charm with his magic. Her raised eyebrows were the only sign she gave that his ability to catch on so quickly and the raw power he put in the charms was unusual.

He wouldn't be needing to recharge any time soon, and she would wager that the little lightning bolts would protect almost up to an AK. Kid wasn't a saviour for nothing, she supposed.

"You know, we have charms for adults. Since you bought the chain, you might want to think about some protections you can get. Merlin, with all you've bought, I'm willing to throw in one for free."

"Well," Harry heisted, then decided to go for it. "I just found out about magic today. But everyone seems to be watching me, expecting me to be… I don't know… So, I'm wondering, can you maybe make something that can hide me?"

Emma smiled, "Certainly. We can give you a notice-me-not charm that you can turn on or off. Of course, if you do something to draw attention to yourself, no charm will hide you. But this one will make it so people are more inclined to ignore you, overall. Maybe we could throw on another charm that blurs your image and voice so it can't be recorded without your permission?"

"That sounds fantastic! How about the tree for the blurring one – like camouflage? And can you put muggle repelling on that one, too? And maybe that sun/moon charm for the notice me not?" Looking at his clothes, she wondered about the muggle-repelling charm, but said nothing. Hopefully, the folks at Hogwarts would take care of the obvious signs of abuse and neglect. She'd help him now, though.

The charms were quickly enchanted with Harry placing them on his chain practicing the on/off feature. He settled up his bill and put the animal charms in his money pouch, along with a card from the shop. He figured that it would be useful to be invisible, especially at school. He wished he'd had that charm in Surrey. Would've made primary school a lot easier if Dudley's gang couldn't see him.

As he left the jeweler, Harry rejoined Hagrid outside. "What took yeh so long, Harry? Couldn't find a watch yeh liked?"

"Oh, no, I found a watch straight off. But the art of the bargain should never be rushed," Harry answered, seriously. He wasn't exactly sure what it meant, but it sounded important. It was something he had heard Uncle Vernon say once. His uncle was a pretty savvy businessman, as was evidenced by the amount of money he made. Not that Harry ever saw any of it.

"Now," Harry said, "I think I should get storage next, as everything else is big." Looking around, he felt a tug and found himself wandering into Samson's Second Hand.

Upon glancing through the cluttered shop, Harry looked up to Hagrid. "I need everything. Trunk, school bag, the works. This place looks like it will do."

"Shouldn't yeh get new, then?"

"New is prettier, but not necessarily better. Besides, I have a good feeling about this place." Hagrid nodded at the logic and started through the jumbled aisles with Harry.

Wandering aimlessly through the store (which was not very well organized) Harry finally, after fingering several, chose a small-ish, rather beat-up trunk. It seemed to have 3 compartments for clothes, books, and perishables. Strangely – he somehow _felt_ that there was more, he just couldn't see it yet. But it was his trunk. It would hold Dominic's clothes and Miss Astrid's food… and all the books he'd want. Which was a lot.

It was surprisingly easy to lift, and Harry couldn't keep the surprised wonder out of his eyes.

"It prolly has a perm'nint feather-lite charm," Hagrid stated, looking over the beat-up trunk. "Looks well-made, if well used," he approved. He was glad to see that Harry didn't judge from the outside. Harry grinned.

In the same random manner, Harry found a potions kit that couldn't be opened, but decided to take it anyhow, and after spotting a number of telescopes, again his luck seemed to dictate which one he should take. It certainly wasn't the prettiest, but it worked better than any others, with the enchantments it had. And it had a case that protected its magical lenses. He'd read about the telescope the Americans had put into space and he wondered if the magical telescopes, with their light and cloud penetrating enchantments could get close to the pictures that the big observatory pictures in the deserts got.

He wandered more, picking up a satchel for books, and a duffle bag, just because it appealed to him, and you never knew when you'd need an extra bag.

Hagrid handed him a small mirror, "This might be a foe glass," – whatever that was - "and it's a good price." So it was added to the pile, as was a really cool snake bracelet.

"This is wicked. Looks like it's alive. It's very cool," Harry enthused, looking at the brass-colored snake with emerald-chip eyes. Hagrid didn't like snakes, but knew how young boys could be, so he didn't argue.

Lastly, Harry eyed a cat carrying case. He wasn't sure if Bub would want to go to school with him, and this seemed like something he could buy in the regular world if he did. Now that he had money, he could worry about it later. But he decided to ask Hagrid, anyhow.

"Hagrid, is there anything special about this case? I have a cat who's my friend, and since the letter said I could take a cat…"

Hagrid looked the carrier over. "Well, and sure it is. Bigger on the inside than outside, innit? And of course you can't see that or there'd be trouble. Can't have the muggles seeing magic."

Samson, the owner of shop, recognized Harry when ringing up the large pile. When he tried to charge two sickles for potions kit, Harry protested. Again, he normally wouldn't have, but something was nudging his behavior.

"Hang on, you want to charge me 40 quid for a bag that may or may not be able to be opened, and may or may not have useful things or nasty things in it if I do manage to open it?"

Samson's eyes narrowed. "It's a masters' kit," he stated in a flat voice.

"I'm a customer," Harry answered, pointing to the rest of the pile he was buying, "A good one. Are you really going to risk ripping me off so blatantly?"

Remembering this was the Boy Who Lived, Samson nodded shortly. "You can have it for 1 sickle, then. And that snake is free of charge." Harry smiled and thanked him politely. Looking at the trunk and bag, Samson looked to Hagrid and advised, "You might have luck at the enchanter next-door to the jeweler. He's pricey, but he's a master. He could help Mr. Potter by locking his trunk and bags to the lad's magic." Thinking about how nifty his enchanted charms were, Harry agreed and decided to go to the enchanter's.

The sign, in spidery, silver script, announced: Eamon Edwards, Enchantments. Harry walked in with all of his purchases.

"Mr. Edwards?"

The man at the large table to the side looked up, the goggles on his eyes making the orbs look huge. He put the goggles on his forehead and stood. "That's me. Help ya?"

"Oh, I just bought a load of stuff at the second hand shop. I'm looking to see if this potions kit can be opened?"

Taking the kit, Eamon gave it a quick glance. "I'll charge 10 knuts for opening it – 2 sickles if I get it open and there are components you need keyed to you." Harry quickly agreed.

He looked at it, did some weird wand waving stuff, murmured, and eventually, it popped open.

Harry grinned, and looked inside. "That was quick!" he said enthusiastically, pulling out various sundries.

"Oh, anyone could have opened it. Trick was opening it without damaging it or its contents." Eamon was separating the enchanted items from the non-enchanted ones. Most were in the former pile, not the latter. The lad would get his 2 sickles worth!

"Well, it looks like the rest of my list is done, Hagrid. It has scales, cauldrons, vials, gloves, goggles… can't see anything missing."

Seeing that he would be waiting a while for the rest of the objects to be enchanted, Hagrid decided to find something to do. "How bout I pop over'n get yer ingredients while yeh get the rest uh this stuff done?"

"Sounds good!"

"Rest of your stuff?" Eamon asked as he continued to work on the things from the potions kit on his worktable.

"Yeah, Samson next door said that you could help me tune my stuff to my magic, instead of the last owner? Something like that?"

"Well, let's see what you've got," Eamon said. He took at a look at the trunk first.

"This," he said, turning it to and fro, "is a personal travel trunk. It's enchanted for permanent lightness, notice me not, muggle repelling, anti-fire, anti-flood, anti-pest, durability, and anti-theft." He pointed to different scratches that, once Harry studied them, looked like they might be letters in different languages. His innate runes talent was already noting the groupings and structure of the clusters. "Once we bind it to you," Eamon continued, "to your magic, your DNA, your thumbprint, and a password, it can't be opened except by you. It can't even be moved, if you turn on the sticking enchantment. Anyway. The thumbprint is a muggle thing we figured out how to do recently. It's something the purebloods will never think to look for."

"What about the DNA?" Harry asked curiously.

"Well, in the magical world, we equate it with blood, but we take skin cells. Works just as well. Now, let's get you tuned to this trunk. Now, you're going to want to pull on your magic…"

"Oh, Emma showed me how to do that. It's the same thing?"

"Emma?"

"The jeweler next door. She sold me this chain," Harry pulled out his chain with the two charms on it. Eamon looked at it and smiled.

"Good work," he grunted a laugh, "I suppose it should be. Emma used to be my apprentice. She's still my wife." He winked at Harry then looked back down at the trunk. He cleared and re-bound the trunk to Harry, then showed him how to push his magic into the individual sections. As Harry finished a section, Eamon would check it. Of course, he also cleared all of the potions supplies while Harry perfected his technique. When all three sections were done, Harry felt it was more and more his trunk.

Now that they were done with the trunk, Eamon helped with the bags. Both already were feather-lite, bottomless, and had auto-retrieve features. Eamon talked Harry into adding a damage resistance enchantment to each and doing a refreshing charm, just to clear out anything that might be in there – even a smell. The cat carrier was refreshed and Eamon added a stabilizing charm that Harry was sure Bub would appreciate.

Re-addressing the potions kit, Eamon grinned. "You have yourself a master's kit here. High level protective gear. Blessed athames in different metals for rituals… hundreds of permanently charmed stasis vials locked on this revolving shelf – some even have contents still!… This flame is able to be set to seven different sizes and temperatures, and look at all these stirring rods? These knives are permanently sharp, again in different metals… just like these stirring rods…you have scales for small medium and large weights… and you realize that these cauldrons – all ten of them – besides having easy clean and sizing charms all have a return-to-sender rune? If anyone tries to throw anything in your cauldron, it will return to them. Once we have this kit locked to you, that is. There's even a self-cleaning mat to put under your setup. You have some pretty good taste, kid. Bet no one wanted it because they didn't know how to get it open," he finished then got to work.

When he was finally done and had put all of the pieces back in the kit, Eamon the Enchanter looked at Harry and realized, at last, who he was.

"You're the boy who lived," he said accusingly.

Harry just rolled his eyes.

"Sorry. I'm a muggle born and an American to boot. Missed the last war. Came here when my wife wanted to come home after you and your folks did away with the tosser. Myself, I consider her my home, and why not travel to Merry Old England. But you know how women can be."

Harry just hummed as he finished organizing his things. When he was done, he was able to carry everything out in his new-to-him trunk. Before he put it away, Harry decided to have one last thing checked.

"Mr. Edwards, can you look at this bracelet? Is there any bad magic in it?"

Eamon looked over the gilded serpent, waved his wand, muttered, grunted, and then handed it back. "Nah. Interesting piece. Some magic in it, but might just be ambient from whoever had it before. Should be fine."

Harry smiled, then, instead of putting it in his bag, he put it on. Other than a small scratch, it felt fine.

Lighter in pocket, but much more organized and secure, Harry headed out. Hagrid waited outside with a packet from the apothecary. Harry wasn't sure that he needed those ingredients, what with what was in his potions kit, but he thanked Hagrid and repaid him.

Looking at his watch, Harry noted that he still had a little over two hours before his new clothes would be ready. That should be plenty of time to get schoolbooks.

"I have everything except my books and writing supplies."

"Well, we kin go to Fluorish and Botts…" Hagrid started, then shook his head as Harry started wandering away from him. Following, he watched Harry walk into a store called Script. Script seemed to be a used bookstore, but it also had all the classroom supplies Harry would need. 'Kid's luck seemed to be holding,' Hagrid thought.

He really had no idea.

Harry, meanwhile, had tracked down a helpful clerk. "I actually want quite a lot, since I'm new to this whole magic business. While I'm wandering the shelves, can you get me any first year Hogwarts book? I don't care about book quality, so long as it's legible. It can even be last edition."

Now, as the day had been going on, young Harry had been getting more and more verbose. Part of it was that the compulsion and hex that kept him shy and insecure were gone now, and his brilliant day so far had started reinstating his natural confidence and charisma. However, the liquid luck that was still coursing through him was also driving his impulses into behavior that mightn't have been strictly normal for Harry – or any 11 year old – but it was what was helping the lad most. The clerk, shrugging at the odd-mannered child, nodded in agreement and the two went separate ways.

Harry wandered the shelves with his feather-light basket, pulling out anything that seemed to draw his attention. By luck, he got low-level books on almost every form of magic, from arithmancy to warding. He had rituals and rites and jinxes and hexes, healing and household magic. There was even a book there on parsel magic, whatever that was. It called to him, so he picked it up. There was mind magic and, surprisingly, some non-magical books on speed-reading and basic psychology. He got books on laws, history, Hogwarts, who's who, etiquette, a magical plant encyclopedia and a bestiary, and even a group of classic wizarding primers and tales for kids.

By the time Harry was done roaming and picking out a not-insubstantial library, the proprietor, seeing a large sale, had got his elf to pick up new copies of the first-year curriculum he didn't have versions of in stock. He also produced a box of complimentary bookplates to go with an index book.

"Thank you, sir, but what are these?" Harry asked.

"These, sir, are a way of organizing a true library. If you lock the index and bookplates to your magic, your library will be easy to organize, and, even more, you can automatically retrieve any book that you have lent out. The only way a book leaves a plated library is for you to remove the plate or for your family to die out."

Harry smiled and thanked the proprietor and, loading the books in his trunk as they rang up, asked about parchment versus paper.

"Parchment holds magic. Never fades, bindings stay put. It also allows for anti cheating and copying spells. By all means, practice on paper, as its cheaper, if you want. But do real work on parchment."

"Do wizarding schools use notebooks?"

"Indeed, especially the muggleborn among us. We have ever-filling notebooks that allow you to insert pages, like quizzes or returned homework or references from other sources, like the three-ring binders, except there's no rings ripping the parchment, and they are ever-expanding."

Harry purchased several notebooks – not knowing what subjects he would study or when he would be able to come back to the Alley – and reams of parchment. He also purchased a pair of ever-filling fountain pens and ink.

When he was done at Script, he was done shopping. And Harry was hungry.

Hagrid seemed to be of a like mind.

"Let's get lunch. Tilly's Café is elf-run, and you won't find nuthin' better than elf-made food."

"Elves?" Harry asked, thinking by now he should be used to being surprised. But he wasn't. Hagrid explained that elves normally work for wizards. They had to in order to keep their magic. A restaurant like Tilly's had to be in a heavily magical area or the elves would perish. Before eating, Hagrid went off to see a man about a horse, and Harry took his potion and settled in to enjoy his second full meal in memory. The plates in front of them filled automatically upon sitting down.

"Wicked," Harry whispered, then he simply dug in.

After a filling lunch, they discovered that Harry's wardrobe should be finished. They walked back toward Diagon, stopping to get the clothes and shoes. Dominic wished Harry well and offered a self-updating catalog and owl-order form. "Just in case we missed something critical," he whispered, and winked.

On their way out of Diagon, Hagrid decided to stop one more place. "Now, I know yeh have yer pet, Harry, but I wants to get yeh a birthday present. I know yeh seem tuh have yer mind set on that cat ah yers, but owls, they're dead useful."

He pulled Harry into a magical menagerie where all sorts of pets waited for homes.

"Hagrid, how would an owl be useful?"

"They can take yer mail!"

Harry could just see how Vernon would react if an owl, of all things, started bringing the post. Putting that odd thought aside, Harry moved on to the idea of mail.

"I've no one to write to. I've never gotten mail in my life – not even my Hogwarts letter!" Harry argued. His brain argued that if he really was this "boy who lived" with books and t-shirts and what not, he probably got fan mail.

Except, he didn't.

Putting the problem back to the end of the line, Harry looked at the food dishes. "Hagrid, what do you think these buttons on the dish are for?"

"Lots of familiars are wicked smart. Looks like a cat or dog could choose what food it be wantin'. And that litter tray there, looks like it gets rid of the cat's stuff, if yeh know what I'm sayin."

Harry thought if Bub wanted to live with him, those might be good things to have. He also grabbed a second water food bowl set for owls, saying that he might get mail from someone else, so should be able to host an owl. Hagrid agreed. While Hagrid held a place in line to pay for the animal equipment, Harry picked out food for Bub and the birds. Paying for the items and placing them in the stasis compartment of his trunk, he was ready to go back to Astrid's. It had been a long day, and it wasn't over yet.

It was late afternoon when they parked back in front of Astrid's practice. She greeted them.

"You're a bit early. I have a patient coming in twenty minutes. But you can amuse yourself, yes? Lots of new things to look at?"

Harry nodded and smiled brilliantly. He wanted to talk about it, but years of being beaten or ridiculed for talking would not be easily overcome, and his luck didn't see any advantage in talking at that point.

"Hagrid, I'll make sure he gets back to his guardians. Don't worry. You have his Express ticket still?"

Hagrid paled and started patting his pockets. "Here yeh go, Harry. This here's your ticket for the Hogwarts Express. It leaves on September 1st from King's Cross…"

"I'll explain it to him. You'd better make your way back north, hadn't you?" Astrid interrupted.

"Yeah. Thanks, Astrid. See you, Harry!" Hagrid left, relieved that day was over. He had a thought in his mind of what he could give Harry as a birthday present, and he wanted to get back to his cabin and work on it.

Astrid shook her head then turned to her guest. "Come with me. I'll set you up in a private room so you can sort through your new things. Ok?"

"Yeah, sounds good," Harry agreed.

They moved to a large room at the end of the hall. "This one has the biggest empty space. It should allow you to go through all your things. My elf will help you organize. Rand?"

She called and a small green-grey creature with huge eyes and bat-like ears appeared. "Miss Astrid calls Rand?"

"Yes, Rand. Please help Mr. Potter, but remember, his secrets are his to keep."

"Yes Miss Astrid, Rand will be keeping Mr. Potter's secrets."

Now, with Rand, Harry went through compartments of his new trunk.

The first was the closet – it would easily hold all his clothes. There was a special compartment for shoes (of which he now had three pair: trainers, work boots, and school shoes, which all fit!) and a small drawer, probably for whatever adornments he might wear. He had a watch and snake bracelet, not to mention his glasses and wand, so it was nice that he would have a place to put them while he slept or showered. Rand had his clothes organized in moments, giving Harry an outfit to change into, then gently cleaned the Dursley's rags and gave them back to Harry in a bag. Harry almost cried; full meals, clean, fitting clothes – right down to the shoes!… the world had changed for him today.

The second compartment was a library compartment. It had shelves that magically moved and stored more volumes than Harry's primary school library and the Surrey library had – put together! There was a low cabinet that was already filled with the reams of parchment he purchased, as well as the ink for his everfilling pens. Above the cabinet was a small secretary desk where Harry could, if needed, do his homework. If he had a chair to set up. Which he didn't. He didn't believe he'd have time to do the bookplates and organizing of books, so he decided to hold off until he was back in Surrey. Putting the packages of shrunken-books, book plates, and the index back on a library shelf next to his two bags, he closed the second compartment.

The third compartment was stasis compartment. Rand explained, or at least, Harry thought he explained, that one side was for cold things and the other side was for regular temperature. And that he, Rand, could fill with foods, if young wizard wished. There was also on each side a set-off portion for things that were not edible. Still wouldn't want them to spill (in the case of cleansers) or go off (in the case of potions ingredients).

Harry wished that he had access to a kitchen, but since he didn't, he'd have to think about what kinds of food he could store that could be eaten without cooking. It looked like it would be a sandwich, fruit, and cereal kind of summer.

Which was better than all of the rest of his sentence in Privet Prison had been.

After filling the ingredient holder in the kit with the pre-requisite ingredients for the year, he put his potions ingredients he wouldn't need yet next in the designated areas of the stasis compartment. There was plenty of room for the complete potions his healer would give him, but they wouldn't be ready for a while.

"Oh," Harry said, coming across the lunch sack, "this belongs to Miss Astrid."

Rand popped out and popped back in, almost before Harry could blink.

"Mistress says you to be keeping the lunch box and carry it at Hoggywarty. Yous to carry extra foods and eat when yous hungry, Little Master," Rand confirmed, putting the sack on a shelf in the food section of the stasis cabinet.

Looking over the empty shelves, Harry again noted the section for what seemed like cleaning products. Puzzling over it, he wondered at the maker of this trunk. What would you need that for? He closed up the trunk, thinking he might go back to the book section and pull out a volume to read. Rand excused himself to do his own housework, and Harry sat back to read.

His trunk kept calling to him, though. He studied it on and off for a few moments. Then he spied it.

There was a fourth compartment.

Why hadn't Eamon seen it? And could Harry do what Eamon had taught him to do without help?

He placed his thumb on the lock, and after concentrating really hard, and bringing forth his magic like he was taught, the fourth compartment opened.

It was a general storage compartment, it seemed. Most of it was empty. But one shelf had things on it. There was a rolled-up rug, a broom, and a small box of some sort. And it was there Harry struck gold: there was a canvas sack that looked very much like a tent, and Harry was betting it was magical.

Harry pulled out the tent and studied it.

It was very small: not much larger, footprint wise, than a twin bed. After studying it for a moment, Harry tried to set up the tent. It opened easily. And it was magic.

He went inside to find a cozy little cottage with solid walls. And, much to his surprise, he found a man. Well, not so much a man as a ghost.

"H-hello?" Harry asked, hesitant.

The ghost smiled a kindly smile. He was tall and thin, but in a wiry, you-could-tell-he-was-strong kind of way. The shape of his eyes and the texture of his hair revealed him to be of Asian descent.

"Hello, young wizard. My name is Bin Lee," he said in a softly accented tone. He bowed from the waist. "Welcome to my home. Congratulations on having strong enough magic to unlock the fourth compartment."

Harry smiled self-deprecatingly, "I'm Harry. Harry Potter. And I'm new at this magic thing, so I imagine it was the enchanter's magic that was strong enough, not mine."

"Perhaps," Mr. Lee smiled, "but it does not matter. This trunk is now yours. Let me explain.

"The fourth compartment is warded beyond what how the rest of the trunk is protected – even house elves can't get into it, unless you invite them. I made it to hide and protect magical items: I kept my rune kit, a broom, and even a magic carpet, too, as they're legal everywhere but here in Britain. And of course, my tent… the best of my enchanting skills went into this tent."

Guiding Harry by sweeping his hands around the place, he explained:

"It takes on ambient light of outside, though I have put enchanted light fixtures around the room," Harry looked around to see that half of the space seemed to be living space, while the other side was set up to be a kitchen, set off by a dining counter. He wandered to the kitchen part to look at the fixtures, "I was never much of a cook, but it is important to be able to make meals and potions when one is traveling. Of course, if you're going to do potions, bring your kit in and make sure to clean the counters! Cross contamination can be deadly!

"To continue: There are air-refreshing charms, though you may need to refresh them since my home has been closed for a while. There is a space for the trunk to be opened – after all, most of what you really need is in there, correct?" Harry smiled and nodded. He noted that the living room space was deeper again and in that space was a bedroom area. He'd have his own, real bed.

No more cupboards or rooms with locked doors.

"Through that door," Mr. Lee indicated a small door at the side of the kitchen, "is a full bathroom. Also, there's a magical washer and dryer in there. Additionally, the whole tent is completely warded – no one can see anything, hear anything, SMELL anything that happens in here. No one can enter unless you guide them in, not even elves. They will see what they want to see."

"Can non-magicals see the tent? Will they recognize magic?"

"The tent itself has muggle-repelling charms on it. As for magic, it is also hidden completely from the outside world. What you do in the walls of this tent stays in here. I would encourage you to be careful there, though," Mr. Lee continued, looking seriously into Harry's eyes, "There is a down-side to no one being able to find you, especially if you are hurt."

Harry nodded seriously and then sat on a kitchen stool, surveying his new home.

The living room boasted an ever-tuned spinet piano, and seeing it, Harry smiled.

"Do you play?" Mr. Lee asked.

"I've mucked around a little. The music teacher taught me some," Harry confirmed, not wanting to say that he'd been mesmerized by music and wanted, badly, to learn. He'd been denied anything he wanted, all his life, so he was careful never to let anyone know what he truly wanted.

"I'll teach you more. Skills should always be nurtured." The piano bench housed within it a magical music volume that contained thousands of pieces of sheet music for various levels. There was also a metronome and a violin with its own sheet music volume. "Sometimes, I liked the violin better. You'll learn both."

Harry had no argument for that.

There was a very comfortable leather reclining chair next to a fireplace – which could be connected to the floo, if Harry wanted. After asking what the floo was, Harry decided he didn't want, at least not yet.

Above the fireplace was a picture that moved. "Is that picture magical?" Harry asked.

"Yes, that's the valley of the Kings in Egypt. Like all the pictures here, it shows what that place is like at the current time of day… and I liked the way it matched my chair." Mr. Lee smiled. Harry sat in the chair, noting its comfort. The small table next to the chair would be perfect for holding a drink while Harry studied.

"Will you stay with me, then? And will people notice that you're here?"

"I will stay, young wizard, for a while. This is my home, and there are still things I need to do. But you do not need to stay with me. I am perfectly happy if you have things you must do."

Harry smiled, "OK, see you later then!"

Remembering that the kitchen was fully stocked with everything he would need to cook, assuming he had ingredients, Harry decided to get some food. Exiting the tent– he called for the house elf.

"Rand, can you come into my tent and check the enchantments to see that everything is ok?"

Rand suddenly looked at the tent in surprise, as if he hadn't noticed it there before. Entering the tent, he started to quiver with excitement.

"I need a complete pantry," Harry continued, "Every staple, herb, spice, and food that is necessary to keep me to the diet your mistress wants needs to be purchased. Can I give you money to get that for me?

Rand nodded, looking excited.

"Yous also needs to be cleaning up this tent, sir."

"Well," Harry replied, "I need to get cleaning stuff, but I can…" he sees the disapproval in Rand's eye and asks, "Can I hire you to do that?"

Rand looked pleased. "Yes, elveses like to cook AND clean. Rand knows two elveses who will come if Master Harry Potter will pays them." Harry nodded in agreement and felt a magical twinge.

Two more elves popped in, and Harry realized that they were feeding off the magic of the contract. What did his science teacher call it? Symbiosis.

He handed Rand five galleons, "Will you need more for food and cleaning products?"

"No, Master Harry Potter. This will be enough. Master Harry Potter has good strong magics. Elveses will be doing good job."

"Wes be cleaning this tent for you and fillin yous pantry," said another squeaky voice that Harry though somehow might be female.

"Oh yes," said the third. Harry took all of them into the tent then stood back.

"Can I leave this to you all, then?"

Rand looked away from the task for just a moment, snapped his fingers, and the book Harry had played with before appeared in Harry's hand. "Little wizard should let elveses do what elveses do. Read book."

Shrugging, Harry sat down in a convenient (and comfortable) chair to read about some creature named Babbity Rabbity (and a cackling stump! Which sounded truly odd, but was actually a pretty good story.)

Some time later, after the elves had left and the tent was packed away, Astrid knocked on his door.

"Mr. Potter, could you come with me now? Your things will be fine here, and Rand can pack away your potions. He nodded.

The first thing Astrid did were his immunizations. They took a shorter time – and were less painful than they would have been in a muggle doctor's office - but Harry wouldn't know that. When she was done, she turned to him with a paper.

"This, Mr. Potter, is the record of your full medical diagnostic," He could tell by the way she said it that it made her very, very angry. But somehow, he knew it wasn't at him. "If you ever wants to press charges, if not against the animals that raised you, against the animal that put you there, you will need this evidence."

He looked at her solemnly. "Does the magical world have solicitors and barristers?"

She smiled, "Indeed, we do. My husband is one. Would you like to meet him?"

Harry thought about it. His instinct (guided by luck) was to say yes. "I think I would. I also have to go back to Gringotts – would it be too much bother?"

"It wouldn't be any bother at all," she replied.

She walked to her fireplace, threw in some powder, and talked to a person IN the fireplace. Harry decided that must be a floo.

"Well, Mr. Potter, my husband will be able to meet you at Gringotts to agree to terms – in two hours, just after his office closes. He has a late appointment today. Meanwhile, we have two hours. Did you get everything you need? Would you like a haircut, maybe new glasses?"

Overwhelmed, Harry simply whispered, "Yes, please," as he nodded enthusiastically.

First, they went to a magical optometrist. Again, the healer waved his wand and muttered. "Glasses are needed for now. You say you're treating the malnutrition?" looking over the rims of his own glasses, the oculist glared at Astrid. She returned the glare and nodded.

"Well, then. Drops, once day, along with those growth and nutrition potions, will make your eyes almost 20/20. Until then, though, how about we get you a new set of glasses that are auto correcting?"

"What kind of magic do they have?" Harry asked, still wanting to learn all that magic could do.

"All of our spectacles have the normal charms: prescription-correct, self-cleanse, and durability. And, of course, anti-summoning charms exist so no one can take them from you. From the muggles we've picked up the idea of automatically shading the lens when it's bright outside, if you'd like that."

Harry nodded, agreeing with all of those enchantments.

"As you won't need these for actual sight in a few years, you may wish to have other enchantments. There's a new lingual charm – you push your magic into left leg to turn it on or off – that will translate other languages; 300 programmed, modern and ancient. If you spend enough time reading, you actually learn the language," He looked at Astrid as he explained further, "It's a bit like the new lingual ear cuff they sell at the travel shop down the street, though I'm not so sure I'd go with the tongue piercing. I'll stick with speaking English." Astrid nodded, knowing what the oculist was talking about. "Then, there's the uncommon but dead-useful mage-sight enchantment – you push magic into right leg to turn on or off – that will allow you to see active magic, like wards or portkeys," Harry nodded as if he knew what any of that was. But it sounded completely wicked.

"I'll take the lot," he declared with a shy smile.

The oculist raised his brow but noted the scar peeking out from the messy fringe. The clothes were obviously new and of good make.

It looked like the saviour of the wizarding world was getting a new look that day.

"It will take about an hour to complete," he stated as he filled the order sheet, taking Harry's payment, in full, up front, and handing the boy a receipt.

"Well, Mr. Potter," Astrid said, taking the boy's hand, "Shall we go find a barber shop?"

As they were walking Harry's luck pulled him into the travel store. "Is this where they have that ear cuff? I'd like to be able to learn new languages!" Astrid smiled. The monsters hadn't crushed this boy, and for that, she was grateful.

As he stood in line to pay for the cuff and the tongue piece (it supposedly was painless, it simply helped one speak a new tongue), he picked up a book on world travel. He had a travel trunk, and maybe, someday soon, he'd be able to go wherever he liked. Mr. Lee must have traveled. Maybe he would give Harry advice! The book was full of maps, methods of travel, currency information, guidelines on where to go and what to do and how to eat, rules that must be followed in that country, etc. He looked in the Britain section and saw the words he'd heard earlier: floo, portkey, broom travel, and even that magic carpets were illegal. There were other travel methods mentioned, like the knight bus and apparition licensing.

"Mr. Potter, you may wish to get one of these," Astrid indicated a water bottle. "It will automatically fill from the moisture in the air, so you'll always have pure water to drink. It also can be programmed for potions. I can link it up to your potions and then you won't have to worry about remembering what to take."

"That's brilliant. Thanks!" he smiled again. He'd smiled more today than the rest of his life, put together!

They left the travel store, a shiny cuff on Harry's ear and a tiny implant in his tongue, and walked into Majestic, the magical salon.

Harry sat in the chair, and the hairdresser studied his hair first, once again casting spells and muttering at what she saw. "I know just what product to use to tame this birds' nest. You ready for a new look, kiddo?" Harry giggled, imagining Belle and Ed nesting in his hair.

While his hair was being washed, Astrid looked at the shelves.

"Mr. Potter, did you purchase toiletries for school – or a grooming kit?" It wasn't on the list, and Hogwarts did have basic supplies, but this young man deserved more. Astrid wanted to give him the world after what he'd endured.

"Hagrid didn't tell me I needed that stuff. It wasn't on the list," Harry frowned.

"Oh, you can use the stuff at the school, but our stuff's better," the hairdresser argued. "I mean, do you really want to use someone else's soap?" She shuddered.

Harry realized he didn't even own a comb.

"Well, I'll get it all organized for you," Astrid consoled him, seeing the boy worrying at his lip. "It'll be ready when you've got your new look, okay?"

The hairdresser told Astrid just what shampoo to get, as well as some gel for control. Lord knew, the boy with Potter hair needed it!

"We sell this shower caddy that is instant refill – from a larger storage unit. There's soap, shampoo, face wash, body wash, mouth wash, lotion, hair gel, body spray, after-shave, and deodorant to choose from. Not that he needs all of that, yet, but you never know." Astrid picked up a deluxe grooming and shaving kit that automatically banished refuse for ease of cleaning and to stop people taking his parts for potions. This had scissors, nail clippers (both kinds), tweezers, a brush, comb, filing board, and a razor (not needed yet, but, someday!). She explained each piece to Harry as the hairdresser snipped and buzzed.

"What about a toothbrush?" he asked and they laughed.

"Yeah, wizards don't use toothbrushes," the clerk answered, smiling, "I'm muggleborn, so it was a shock to me, too. Besides the mouth cleaning charm, they use this mouthwash that automatically removes the food matter from the mouth. Use it every time you eat and your breath will be fresh and you won't get any cavities."

Harry decided to get all of the things in the caddy. He might not use them all at once, but who knew when he'd be able to come back!

They left the salon, thanking the hairdresser and promising he'd stop by at Christmas if he left school, and headed back to the oculist. Putting his new glasses on, Harry looked around in wonder. He breathed in deeply through his nose, willing himself not to cry.

He'd taught himself not to cry years before, when he realized that his tears didn't do anything but make the Dursleys annoyed or happy – two things he avoided at all costs. But this was a different kind of cry.

He put the old glasses with the Dursley clothes in bag as evidence to show Mr. Stenwick. It was time to put the Dursleys behind him.

It was time to go to Gringotts.

Astrid and Harry were greeted by Griphook and escorted back to the office of Grimsneer. Astrid took the time to tell Griphook that her husband would be joining them shortly. Griphook nodded, his frown not changing an iota.

The two humans sat, and Grimsneer looked up from his paperwork. Opening a drawer, he pulled out a box. Opening it, he handed Harry a key.

"Your new vault key, Mr. Potter. Please ensure it doesn't end up in anyone's hands but yours."

Harry nodded, pulled off his chain and added the key to it. Grimsneer, able to see the enchantments on the chain with his glasses, nodded in approval.

Next, he pulled out a large parchment.

"The results of your blood test are in. You wish this human to know your results?"

Harry looked at Astrid. "Yes, sir. She's my healer and is under oath because of that. Also, I am most likely going to hire her husband as my solicitor."

Grimsneer gave a jerk of his head. "As you suspected, your mother was not completely muggleborn. Her father was a squib – that is, a non-magical human born to magicals. He was adopted by the Evans family, but his family name had been Booker. There is a vault for the Booker family, and it seems that you are the last of that line. As your blood is magical, the vault has accepted you. There is a decent amount of coin, but all of the family valuables are in there, also, as the Booker family has died out," He pushed another key to Harry who simply left it on the desk, waiting for any other results.

"Your mother's grandmother – on her mother's side – was also a squib. However, she did not leave the wizarding world until she was in her twenties. She was the only offspring of that particular branch of the Willis family. There is also a vault set aside for any of her offspring that were magical, containing quite a number of galleons, sickles, and knuts, as well as some family valuables. Again, you qualify as inheritor." A second key was pushed toward Harry.

"Grimsneer, is there any particular advantage to keeping three vaults?"

Grimsneer almost smiled. The child was not stupid. "For a small fee, we can roll the vaults together. Then, any annual fees will decrease."

"A small fee?"

"To pay the goblin movers."

"I'll pay sickle," Harry offered, thinking twenty quid was enough, especially as he'd already paid for the inheritance test.

"Two galleons," Grimsneer argued, knowing he would be losing two vault fees.

"Two sickles," Harry countered, getting into the bargaining.

"A galleon," Grimsneer demanded, seeing the gleam in the child's eyes.

"Done," Harry agreed, pushing the keys back to the Goblin.

"It goes without saying that this will be a confidential transaction," Grimsneer glared at Astrid, who calmly looked back.

The goblin manager was still upset that someone had been able to get into the Potter vaults and remove valuables.

At that point, there was a brief knock on the door, and, after invitation, Griphook announced that Robert Stenwick was here for business with Mr. Potter.

Harry stood, shaking hands with the short man. He was built like a wrestler – wide at the top tapering drastically at the waist. His smile was genial, but Harry could see that he could be trouble if he wanted to be.

"Mr. Potter, I'm Robert Stenwick. Astrid said you might have some work for me?"

Thus began a discussion of all the things that Harry had noted in the day and in his life – from the fact that no one had ever looked for their boy savior to the fact that not one of his teachers had ever reported obvious neglect. Astrid prompted him when he paused, filling in spaces with things she had also noticed.

In the end, they agreed on a short list of actions Robbie would undertake as Harry's legal representative (officially). He would investigate if any muggles in contact with Harry were cursed or had compulsions on them – the school nurse and teachers at the very least should have reported abuse. Also, he would find out who allowed "boy who lived" paraphernalia to be made, and after confirming no deposits with Grimsneer, Robbie agreed to find out where the proceeds were going. Robbie would work with Gringotts to find out what happened to the money and items taken from Gringotts as well as investigate if any of the Potter properties were still in existence. They would keep in contact by mail.

Harry noted that might be a problem, as he had never, ever gotten mail. Robbie sighed heavily. "Mr. Potter, you have given me quite a task list! I shall be busy, I suspect, for years. Grimsneer, can you arrange to have a post box delivered here before this meeting ends? I think Mr. Potter would benefit from having one."

Grimsneer nodded, making the arrangements for the service. A post box was a two-ended box system. Anything placed in one box would appear in the other. This would allow Harry to receive mail and order things, through his solicitor, and they would be delivered directly to him. Confirming that it would be allowed at school, Harry gladly accepted and signed for the fee.

"I have one last request, though I suspect that you will say no," Robbie began, then looked with stern sympathy directly into Harry's eyes. "Can I get a statement from you, what is life with your relatives like?"

Taking a deep breath, Harry nodded. For the first time, he really felt like he could talk about what his life had been, and luck would help him word it so they understood. He opened the bag with the Dursley things in it and pulled them all out, putting them on Grimsneer's desk.

"You see those clothes? Those rags? They weren't mine. I was required to do all of the laundry, but I was allotted one set of castoffs to wear, and I was specifically told – reminded several times, actually, that I was borrowing them. They were not mine to keep." Swallowing, he continued.

"I did all of the gardening, washed the car, scrubbed anything that was filthy. All of the dirty work was mine, and I was afforded one, cold bath per week to clean myself.

"I did most of the cooking but never ate with the family. I usually had to eat from the scraps. The garbage was all I was allowed to have.

"I cleaned, tidied, and dusted all of the bedrooms. They have four you know," for the first time, he looked straight back into Robbie's eyes. "One for Petunia and Vernon, one for a guest room, and two for my cousin, Dudley.

"I had to change their sheets weekly, make up their beds and straighten Dudley's rooms daily, and I was given – no, I was LOCKED IN – the boot cupboard under the stairs. When they were done using me, they'd lock me in there. Sometimes for days. My first letter was addressed there – the one Vernon burned. They moved me to Dudley's second room then, believing that they were being watched." Caught up in his own thoughts, Harry didn't notice the looks of fury and sadness on the adults' faces.

"That actually would have been really bad, because I'd mastered unlocking my cupboard so I could sneak food. They'd installed four locks on my new prison. I'd have starved to death before the end of summer, if things hadn't gone as they did.

"Whenever I did something wrong – didn't do it well enough, or even did something too well, so it looked like I had done something "freaky" – which is how they think of magic – they'd beat me. I got whipped for my birthday and for Christmas every year. They praised my cousin when he broke my arm with a cricket bat. They beat me when I got better grades. My life there, sir, was hell. And I can only thank you if you can ensure I never have to go back to that."

The quill that had been taking down Harry's words stopped then. There was complete silence for a moment before the solicitor spoke.

"We could do that, Mr. Potter. But understand, if this comes to light in the wizarding world, you would then be, almost certainly, sold off to the highest bidder. Someone would then have rights to your vaults and your person. And the wealthiest of wizards… well, they tended to be on the other side of the conflict your parents' sacrifice ended."

Harry breathed out quietly and closed his eyes, almost succumbing to misery. Then he remembered that he had his tent; maybe he would be able to stay with the Dursleys but not stay with the Dursleys…

"I understand. And I think I have an idea. In my new trunk is a magical tent. I think I could maybe live in that, and the Dursleys won't mind. Between that and my muggle repelling charm, I don't know that they'll even see me? And if they do… Maybe… maybe we could present the evidence to them? If they give me any trouble? Maybe we could have a way of communicating, and if you don't hear from me within a few hours…"

The solicitor agreed, wishing he could do more.

Grimsneer has been listening to this meeting and was furious. Children should not be treated this way. Humans were filth. But it was not his problem to solve, unfortunately. He would love to test the sharpness of his blades on this human child's kin.

It was time to discuss what has been taken from his accounts, which absolutely was a goblin problem.

"The Potter accounts have been locked down from your 'guardian' since it is obvious you've never seen any of the money that was pulled from the account. It looks as though some of the money was used to purchase the property where you currently reside,"

"If you trace the funds, I can sue to either get a full refund or get the deed," Robbie interrupted. Grimsneer and Harry both nodded. Grimsneer continued.

"You family's possessions are missing a few things, including an heirloom – referred to as the Peverell cloak, the box that had the contents of the place your family resided in when they were killed, and the trunk that held the family library. There is nothing we can do at this point, aside from stop any more items from disappearing.

Harry firmed his jaw, wanting to rant but knowing it would do no good.

He did not stop to wonder that no one had mentioned his guardian's name. He understood that for someone to be able to do this – to hide a national boy hero, to raid that child's vaults – that person must be powerful.

In a way, Harry didn't want to know his enemy's name, not until he could do something about it. Maybe Mr. Lee would have some ideas.

He thanked Grimsneer for his time, was assured that the time would be paid for from his vaults, to which he almost chuckled. He went back out the Cauldron and walked with Astrid and Robbie back to her practice, which was also their house.

Back at Astrid's she confirmed that Rand had loaded trunk with appetite, nutrition, and growth potions. She handed Rand the bag from the salon and the post box and then programmed the water-bottle from the travel store .

Reviewing the potion schedule and his diet, she watched as he wrote it all into his schedule.

"Those potions will work best if you do a good amount of physical work, too. Exercise every day, for strength, endurance, and agility. It will help your body corrections," she said. Finally, she handed him a jar and a… hand.

"This is an ointment for your scars, which should all disappear except the one on your forehead. Curse scars and other magical marks can't be got rid of. The hand is a magical applicator. It will put the ointment on the areas you can't reach."

"Thanks," Harry whispered, not wanting to even think of all the scars on his body. "How long will the corrections take?"

"Up to two years, which isn't bad, given that you've been neglected for a decade. The bindings on your core will also gradually fade over time. They weren't set to, but that finite I hit you with kicked off the decomposition. I've given you potions for the next month. I'll send you the monthly potions through my husband and that mailbox of yours. You just have to stop by next summer for a checkup and new potions – hopefully we won't have to change anything, but just to make sure. Please think about having your skeleton regrown. I can have you in for two weeks each summer. It'll take a few years, but will stop any future problems you'd have because of bad break repair."

"Yeah, I suppose. And it will give me a break from the Dursleys at the end of the summer."

She smiled. "You're a smart little wizard, always looking for the bright side." Ruffling his hair, she called Rand to put his things into the boot of her car.

After getting directions, Astrid drove Harry to Number 4 Privet Drive, home of the Dursleys. She got to the edge drive and stepped out of the car, but had to stop then.

"I can't go farther than this. There's some sort of ward. Seems to be on whole property. Stops wizards, if nothing else. Good to know."

Harry pushed his magic into the leg of his glasses, activating the mage sight. He could see a grid of magic around the property, and it all seemed to lasso to him. Describing it to her, he was reassured when she nodded.

"Well, if nothing else, you seem to be protected from the magical world, if not the muggle one. I'll send Rand by tonight – few wizards think to block from house elves. If he can't get in I'll find another way to check on you. But if he can, he'll let me know if those…people have given you any problems. Okay?" He nodded, not wanting to think about the Dursleys.

"Anyway, here," she handed him a card. "When you get off the train next summer, come see me, and I'll do the checkup. Then, if you decide to get the skeletal work done, give me a call, and I'll come pick you up. In fact, I'll pick you up in the morning on September first, if you want. That way, you won't have to deal with these animals at all."

Harry smiled. For the first time in… ever, he genuinely had a good day. He'd had two good meals, a hot shower, he could see, and he had clothes that fit and were comfortable. Most of it was due to this woman. For the first time in… ever, he voluntarily touched someone.

Leaning over, he hugged her. "Thank you," he whispered, then jumped to the back of the car. He got his trunk out then waived her off. Activating the notice-me-not charm on his necklace, he quickly made his way to the back yard.

The Dursleys were not home yet. Harry looked around then decided where to set up his tent. There was a place between the Dursley's shed and the neighbor's shed that was empty – it housed the patio furniture during the winter months. Harry had hidden back there before, so he knew just how much room was there. Opening his trunk, he quickly put up the tent. Picking up his trunk, he entered his new home.

Mr. Lee was there to greet him.

"I trust you've had a productive afternoon, Mr. Potter?"

"Have I ever," Harry sighed, wanting nothing more than to just sit down and have a good think. But that would be rude.

"Say, how come the elves didn't cotton on to you?" Harry asked, curious.

"Oh, they did, but I'm still your secret, and they were bound to keep your secret."

"You said this is your home. Are you going to be upset that I'm living here?"

Mr. Lee smiled. "My grandmother was a world famous seer and astrologer. She said my doom was to help one chosen by fate. She helped me prepare, but that one never came. I could not go to the next world not having fulfilled my doom. So I am here. I hope you are the one I am to help."

"You speak excellent English," Harry noted.

"Yes, my grandmother – mother's mother – was an English witch. She made sure I could speak, read, and write English, Latin, and Greek, as well as play piano and violin, which are not Chinese instruments."

"Why Latin and Greek? Not many people speak those, right?" Harry thought maybe he was asking too many questions, and his sudden hesitance must have shown.

"Your curiosity is a sign of a strong mind. Do not fear asking me questions, young Potter. As for Latin and Greek, Western magic is based in these. Eastern magic is based in what you would call Chinese. It broadened my horizons. And now, I will broaden yours." His smile was not exactly pleasant, but Harry felt he could rise to the challenge.

Pulling out some food from his pantry, he made himself a quick, balanced meal. Before he ate, he took his potion, and started telling his life story to Mr. Lee. By the time he had finished the details, he was cleaning his dishes and the summer sky was darkening. It had been a long day, and Harry was starting to tire. Just then, he heard the Dursley's car pull in. Dudley slammed out of the car and ran up to his room, but his parents were slower.

Turning off the notice-me-not, Harry grabbed the bag of Dursley items, excused himself, and walked out to greet the Dursleys. Before he knocked, he straightened his back and took a deep breath. Time to face the fire.

He knocked on the front door and waited patiently for the door to open. Vernon answered and did a double take at the sight of his clean-cut, well-clothed nephew.

"Get in here, boy," he whispered, furiously, looking around to see if anyone was watching.

He reached out to grab Harry's shoulder, but Harry sidestepped.

"I am not here to stay, I don't think," Harry told him. Vernon studied him suspiciously through narrowed eyes. "May I speak with you and Petunia, please?"

Nodding perfunctorily, Vernon opened the door wider and Harry walked in. Dudley looked down from the top of the stairs and gazed at his cousin almost in fear. Harry calmly stared him down, and Dudley ran into his room, slamming the door.

"Pet, the freak wants to talk to us," Vernon called. "Says he's not staying here anymore."

"We could never be so lucky," Petunia muttered, looking over her nephew and wondering how, even after all she'd done, he was still better looking than her own child.

Sometimes life was not fair.

Sniffing, she turned to the dining room.

"Sit," she commanded, pointing at a chair.

"After you," Harry answered, waiting until the couple was seated before sitting himself. He placed the bag quietly on the floor below the table where it would lay, unnoticed, until Petunia got around to cleaning. It took the woman only a few days to notice how much she missed the boy's work, though she could never bring herself to credit it. It took Vernon slightly longer: he would have to pay a nursery for garden care now that the freak no longer did all the landscaping work for free. That the grocers bill, water bill, and electric bill did not go down with Harry's departure was never even noticed by the Dursleys. They simply enjoyed the new reason to curse the freak that they had not, as promised, seen since The Talk.

But, for now, we must go back to that talk.

"I'm sorry," he started.

"You should be," Vernon interrupted, not even waiting to hear what Harry was apologizing for.

Harry looked at his aunt. "I didn't ask to be here, any more than you asked for me."

Each of his elders was grudgingly silent. Harry figured he should continue while they were seemingly listening.

"We're stuck you see. You tried to hide me and they found me. They always will. We'll have to live by their rules – the letter of the law if not the spirit of it – until you can wash your hands of me."

Petunia nodded, though she looked as though she smelled some bad cheese. Getting up, she left the room then returned with a piece of parchment.

"This is the letter we found in the basket they'd put on our doorstep. The freaks left a baby on a doorstep in the middle of the night in November. You can see the orders we had to follow in order to keep our home safe."

Harry held back the grumble that his estate had purchased the house – he needed to get his lawyer to see about this – but read the fine print and finally smiled.

"This says you have to give me house room. Not room in your house. I'll be behind the shed – where the patio furniture goes in the wintertime. I have a tent there. You can't see it. You won't ever see me again. Unless you want to."

Vernon looked dubious at the idea that a tent would be in his backyard that no one could see, but if it meant the freak was out of his house, he was all for it.

"Why would we want to see a freak like you?" Petunia sniffed.

Harry activated his glasses. There was magic on the letter, but he didn't see anything else affecting them. He supposed that they were just naturally charming.

"I can take this with me, if you want. One less freakish thing in your house," Vernon nodded shortly and said nothing more.

"Well, goodbye then," Harry muttered, getting to his feet and walking out the door. By the second step he'd put his notice-me-not back on. But the time he'd reached his home, he'd done his best to put the conversation behind him.

It didn't occur to him that conversation could have – should have gone much worse. But Vernon had had a good day – the bad start forgotten, and Petunia just wanted to be shot of the whole thing… and luck was still on Harry's side, for a few hours, anyway.

Opening the trunk to the library compartment, Harry decided it was time to organize his books. Mr. Lee gave him advice on which ones he should start with – specifically the books that would help him learn how to learn and how to express what he'd learned orally and in the written form.

As he finished putting book plates into the last few books, he stretched. The index fairly glowed with all of the magic Harry had just put into it. It organized the books in a logical manner and Harry ordered them all, by hand, just so he could see them each one more time.

"There's so much to learn. And I want to keep up with the normal stuff, too."

"Normal stuff," Mr. Lee stated with a question in his voice.

"Oh, non-magical. I have to keep my options open."

Mr. Lee nodded.

Harry put the school notebooks in his desk, along with the extra bookplates and his pens. He looked at the magical scheduler that he'd been given and asked Mr. Lee how it worked.

"You see the first pages? You list what you want to do, what tasks are necessary, and it schedules for you. Things that have specific times are put in first, then other tasks are organized so that everything you want to do can get done. In this column you mark the days you want to do things – alternating, daily, weekday, or weekend, or even specific days. Let us start. You will put in that you must run for one hour on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 5am. On Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday you will swim at that same time. You will do one hour of agility and weight training from 8:30 to 9:30pm daily, followed by meditation, a shower, and sleep."

Harry dutifully entered these into the book, then turned the pages and saw each day fill with the activities.

"Your meals at school – we will assume they are the same time – so break your fast at 6:30 for one half hour, lunch will be at noon for one half hour, and dinner will be from 5:00 to 6:00 daily. You will practice music from 6 to 7 as well as two hours extra on weekends."

Harry watched as more of his days were filled, but he didn't mind. It was good to be busy with things that would help him.

It was already gone past nine, so he put down the book and got ready for bed, thinking of things that weren't in that schedule. He needed to get his chalks and boards and anything else magical from the Dursley's house; he hoped to get Aunt Petunia to agree to sign him up for homeschool tests, but even if she wouldn't, he wanted to get the curriculum for regular classes.

As he was finishing putting the books in, he heard a soft padding behind him. He turned, and there he was, his oldest and best friend, Beelzebub the Black Cat. "Hey Bub! Good to see you!"

Bub ran through Harry's hands and legs in greeting then sat on his haunches and quirked his head in interrogation. "Oh, well, it's like this. I'm a wizard. I'm magical!" Bub's head nodded and his paw hit Harry as though encouraging him to continue. "You knew that, eh? Well, now I know, too. So the Dunces in the house got really scared because the rest of the wizards tracked me down to invite me to school with them. It's called Hogwarts. Say, I'm allowed to take a cat as a friend, you want to go?" Bub rolled his eyes, as if he would let his wizard travel hither and yon alone. "Cool! I got a carrier for you in case you did." As Bub's eyes narrowed, Harry assured him. "No, you'll see. Magic stuff is cool! Like check this. I got you this scratch post that I put next to my bed. It changes shape when you get bored. See? And over in the corner, next to that mirror thing with the hooks and that rug … I think that's for coats and shoes, what do you think?... anyway, that's a magic litterbox. It," he screwed up his face, "banishes? I think that's right. Banishes any waste and auto cleans the litter. Oh, and check out these dishes!" He took the cat over to the kitchen area where he'd laid out the mat for the cat dishes. "This gives you fresh, clean water all the time. And this dish… see the buttons? Well, you push the fish, it gives you a bit of fish-based food. Same with the bird thing and the mouse thing. I don't know who made it. But I know you're brilliant so it'd be nothing for you to figure it." Bub tapped the rodent button and a few bits of dark, soft kibble appeared in the dish. He sniffed, licked, then, after nodding at Harry, scarfed it down. Harry giggled watching him. Then Bub looked up at Mr. Lee.

"Nice cat you've got there," Mr. Lee smiled.

"Oh, I don't have a cat. I have a friend. This is Bub, and he's my best mate." A loud squawk sounded and Harry winced. "Well, he's my best furry mate."

Two large birds flew through the tent flap that Harry had not yet locked. "Belle, Ed, how are you?!" They landed on his shoulders and preened at his hair, somehow demonstrating approval of the new hair cut. "I was surprised you didn't show yourselves today. I could feel you watching." A wing cuffed him in the back of the head.

"Mr. Lee, this is Annabelle and this is Edgar. They've watched out for me since I was a tot. Saved me from a dog once, and my cousin more than once. They can spot a bad guy from fifty paces, and since they haven't attacked you, you must be a bit of all right." A caw of agreement came from the female of the pair.

"Mr. Potter, I believe you ought to know that your acquaintance Bub is not merely a cat. He seems to be mostly kneazle: a highly intelligent and loyal magical animal."

Bub preened, and Harry shook his head, knowing it to be true. It explained so much! "The ravens appear to be normal ravens, who are extremely intelligent birds, but they may be magical. If so, they can be postal birds, if they choose." Harry smiled as the birds nodded.

"I got prezzies for you guys, too. I didn't get you an owl tree – wasn't pulled to it. Now I see why. There's already one here," he pointed to the large tree-like stand on the other side of the door. "Of course, I'll personlize it for you guys before long. Anyway, I got you a water bowl and a treat bowl." Just like with Bub's bowl, there were choices keyed to a source bag in his trunk. He set the bowls up on the tree and the birds tried it out. Ed tried the crunchy carrion while Belle chose the bug crunch. They munched away while he got out the last presents, hoping his friends wouldn't be offended.

"I got you guys collars too. Not like ownership collars. These are special. They should protect you. They have anti-pest charms, so there will be no more fleas or any of that. They also have muggle-repelling charms, so I guess that's just another anti-pest charm. Dudley and his gang won't be able to see you anymore. The gems in them, since I pushed my magic in, will protect you from harmful spells. Do you want them?"

All three animals had listened as he explained the necklaces, but the final sale was when the birds saw the shiny lightning bolts. They sure did have a weakness for the shiny. So he put the collars around their necks. They lay flat; no on would be able to pick them up or take them off except Harry.

He took his new pajamas out – just a t-shirt and light pants – and went to the bathroom with his shower caddy and personal kit. Putting the ointment on his skin, he reflected on his scarred body. Hopefully, most of those scars would disappear, though he would never forget. He would Never Ever forget.

For the first time in his life, he slept in his own bed. Bub slept on his feet. While he slept, Mr. Lee – who never rested – told him stories. He told him histories and explained sciences and recited poetry. He spoke in English and Chinese that evening, and Harry's ear cuff, which stayed in place unless Harry removed it, allowed Harry to take it all in. He would learn all the time with Mr. Lee helping him.

When he woke up, he didn't want to exercise, but recalled the old saying: sooner begun, sooner done. And it was. With Mr. Lee's… encouragement, he did a decent clip to the local football pitch, ran several laps, several sprints, and jogged home again. There, he did several stretching exercises. He did not look forward to the next day. But for now, it was time to make breakfast.

As he pulled out ingredients to make simple meal he'd done up many times, he talked with Mr. Lee. Bub came in after traipsing around the neighborhood. He scratched at the post then climbed to a tower and turned for a nap. Harry had already spoken of his own story – what he knew of it – with Mr. Lee, the ghost of the trunk. Mr. Lee told of his own life, which had ended in the 1970's in London due to Death Eaters. The trunk had been sold a few times, but none had been able to understand the charms and because it looked so worn, none were willing to invest in re-powering the enchantments.

Harry took his potions, then sat down at the small table to eat his meal. "So, you're willing to help me?"

"I will be the harshest of task masters, Mr. Potter. Starting today, as you saw. We're putting together a schedule that will cover as much of what you've missed in the magical world as we can. We'll keep you up with classical education as well as physical education and meditation. Once you're in a routine, you will find Hogwarts easier to deal with."

After cleaning and putting away his dishes, Harry closed up the trunk and went to the bath to refresh himself. The bath looked like the coast of England somewhere, cool, and grey-blue color, with a moving picture of the shore with its flora and fauna on the walls. Harry smiled as he saw the magical washer and dryer. Good thing Mr. Lee was here to teach him how to use it all!

The days passed and the Dursleys allowed themselves to forget Harry was even there. When they were all out one afternoon, he let himself back into the house. He liberated the slates and chalks and few small toys and baby blanket he had stashed in his cupboard. Searching from the attic to the basement normally and with his mage sight on, he found some pictures of his grandparents and a box of books belonging to his mother. There was an antique quilt in the attic that seemed to have magic on it, a pitcher and set of glasses in the hutch fairly glowed with enchantments, and his grandfather's toolbox, in the basement, had many pieces that seemed magical. The quilt and pitcher might be from his great grandmother – that would make sense. But his grandfather had been a squib who was adopted by non-magicals. How had he gotten magical tools? Had his mother in law provided them? Had he simply had enough magic to see a difference in magical tools? No matter. The Dursleys hated magic; he wouldn't leave anything magical in their hallowed halls. Then he left number 4 one last time, hoping to never darken its door again, unless he could get the deed and sell the place.

Mr. Lee taught him how to analyze what the glasses told him – what the colors of the magic meant. The quilt had benevolent charms – most likely comfort and sweet dreams type things – while the tools had durability and luck charms on them. The pitcher had poison neutralizers and temperature control charms. The books were normal, non-magical literature. His mom had been quite a reader, and he was glad to know he had that in common with her.

Harry spent his last weeks of summer disciplining himself into a new, academic and athletic routine. Yes, he still worked out twice daily, trying to fix the physique a decade as a Dursley drudge had almost destroyed. He'd even gone to the trouble of looking up a martial-arts supply store so that he could do his katas that Master Lee, as he now knew to call his tent-mate, was training him to do.

He made his way to shops in the muggle world, finding books on health and cooking, jewels and beads to bling up the owl-tree in the tent, because his friends liked the shiny. He got plastics to hold the leftovers from his meals and muggle ingredients that elves didn't seem to know about.

He studied both magical subjects and non-magical ones. He read and listened to Mandarin, Latin, and Greek from Master Lee, who had been classically educated. He also practiced music every day, as Mr. Lee believed that skills are the most important thing a person can have.

He let himself into the comprehensive high school to find out the requirements for year-end exams and signed himself up as a home-schooled student. He'd keep up with the real world whether the magicals wanted him to, or not. He purchased the books for the curriculum he'd need up through A levels, simply so he could study at his own - and Master Lee's, where the ghost could help – pace.

He decided to go back to the magical section of London to test out the notice-me-not charm. The people of Little Whinging had ignored him all summer, unless he brought attention to himself. But he had that muggle-repelling charm. So he wanted to make sure that the notice-me-not worked.

Not surprisingly, it worked like a- ha ha- charm. After hearing more about the magical world, the Ravens had indicated that they wanted to be his mail "owls", so he called them to him in the alley. He bargained with the muggle-born magical menagerie worker to charm and train them. They would get the post-owl training while he was at Hogwarts the first semester. While he was at that store, he got more treats for his friends, and upon leaving, he simply walked around, enjoying the anonymity he hadn't had before.

One afternoon, Master Lee was attempting to take him through the differences in dicing, shredding, and chopping for potions, though he had never excelled at the craft. At this point, the snake bracelet woke up. It hissed at Harry, and Harry hissed back.

Master Lee was shocked that Harry suddenly spoke like a snake. "Mr. Potter, what did the snake say to you?"

"Oh, he said his name is Samesh. He can detect poisons and help with making potions. He was trying to tell the differences between a dash and a pinch. Maybe he can teach me how to chop, cut, dice, and other stuff. Maybe he can even tell me why it's important!"

The snake began to hiss, and Harry tipped his head, nodding here and there. His smile was huge. "He explained something about surface area, which makes sense to me. He can also detect parsel-magic, which he says I will have some sort of affinity for, since I could actually see him and understand him. Is something wrong, Master Lee?"

"Not wrong, so much. Simply… concerning. Be very careful. Most Westerners will be – they associate a parselmouth with evil magic."

"Well, remember that I got a few books on that, now that I have someone to help me with it, I think it might be an advantage, yes?"

Master Lee had been trying to cultivate Harry's critical thinking and planning. He wanted Harry to be proactive, not reactive. It was not an easy change, but Harry was progressing, and this was evidence of that change.

Harry spent time practicing speed-reading techniques and a branch of mind protection called occlumency. In one of the updates from the goblins, they had said that his potential enemy was rumored to read minds and that he should never look adult humans of unknown quantity in the eye.

The mind magic was very slow going, but Harry kept at it, understanding its potential worth. The martial arts exercises that Master Lee had him do nightly helped extraordinarily with meditation and occlumency.

Though he never said it aloud, Master Lee was pleased with his student. Harry was a diligent pupil, but still took time every day to do something out of the routine, like simply wandering through a wild area or playing with the animals.

The week before school started, Harry decided to return to Godric's Hollow, where his parents were buried. Not wanting the child to go alone, Master Lee revealed that the box hidden in the fourth compartment was filled with things he wanted Harry to use. His enchanter's kit was there, along with small cache of hard-to-find books that Harry added to his index. The most important thing, however, was a leather necklace with a bronze medallion. This would allow Master Lee to leave his tent, going with Harry, although no one else but Harry would see the ghost. Thinking he needed all the help he could get, Harry donned the necklace on his first solo tour of a magical village. It was a great help. He didn't break down while talking to his parents' grave, realizing they really weren't there, but when he saw the house, it was all he could do to find his way back home via the Knight Bus. Master Lee had helped him keep it together.

Eventually, it was time to go to school. After finishing his run for the morning, he scourgified his exercise clothes and re-packed everything he'd want people at Hogwarts to see in one of the first three compartments. The carpet, broom, and tent went into the fourth compartment, while anything in the tent he might use, like the cat's things or the violin, were stored either in the library or the stasis compartment. He'd called Miss Astrid the previous day, thanking her for all of the help. She picked him up that morning, delivering the next batch of potions and instructing him on how to get through the platform at the train.

He sat by himself on the train, only a small red-headed boy with a dirty nose even bothered to enter the compartment. Once he found out he was sitting with Harry Potter, the jig was up, and Harry turned off his notice me not charm.

"The name's Ron. Ron Weasley. You're THE Harry Potter, right?"

"Well, I am Harry Potter, but I've no recollection of killing any dark wizard, so I don't know if I'm anything special."

"So, what house d'ya think you'll be in?" Ron asked enthusiastically.

Harry shrugged, noncommittally. "Not sure, really."

"Well, nobody really knows. But I'm going to be Gryffindor. My whole family has been. You will be too: that's where your parents came from. Ravenclaw would be okay, but imagine getting Hufflepuff! Bunch of duffers and squibs, they are." Harry doubted that hard work made one a duffer; indeed, his decade with the Dursleys would have qualified him for Hufflepuff, had he not lost all loyalty under their regime.

"What about Slytherin?" Harry asked innocently, somehow already knowing the answer. As the red-head ranted about the evils of the house of serpents, harry prayed Samesh would know to keep quiet. Harry was also having a sense of déjà-vu, though he couldn't for the life of him figure out why.

Meanwhile, Ron's pet rat, introduced as Scabbers, ran through Ron's hands and up to his shoulder. Ron complained about his pet, saying he wasn't especially fond of him, but then Bub noticed the rat. If Bub hadn't been in his cage, Scabbers would have been cat food.

"That's one mean cat you've got."

"Not usually," Harry answered, confused. "But he's in his carrier at any rate. Why isn't your rat in a carrier?"

Ron shrugged. "Never had one." His attention focused on his rat, Ron didn't notice Harry's own attention seem to veer to a voice only Harry could hear.

Master Lee had been quiet for most of the ride, but he now studied the rat. "Mr. Potter, your Bub is a highly intelligent animal. If he doesn't like this Scabbers, perhaps there is something wrong with the rat. As rats are not even on the allowed pet list, I would suggest if you are in the same house as this… fellow, you should keep an eye on the rat."

"So, d'ya play quiddich? What team d'ya follow? Cannons all the way for me, mate," Ron kept talking, and Harry added little only when he was required to. His ears were tired by the time the cart lady came, offering to sell the boys food.

"Anything off the cart, loves?"

Ron held up his lunch bag, sadly saying no. Harry also said no, much to Ron's chagrin.

Harry was on a very strict diet, and every calorie counted to fixing his health. Besides, he'd no desire to show that he had money. This boy was a bull in a china shop. He'd tell everyone that he sat with Harry Potter THE Harry Potter The Boy Who Lived on the train to Hogwarts. No doubt. He didn't need the boy blabbing about how much money Harry had.

So Harry pulled his lunch box out. Setting his bottle to the lunch potion, he quickly quaffed it. Then he munched on the sandwich he'd packed, nibbling on fruit, also.

"Wanna trade?" Ron held up half a corned-beef sandwich. "I don't like this kind."

"No, I'm set," Harry answered. Ron got a little red around the ears, partly in embarrassment, but partly, Harry felt, because Harry'd denied him.

He saw a bit of Dudley in Ron at that moment.

"So what class are you looking forward to?" Harry asked to get Ron's mind off the food.

"Not lookin forward to classes so much as playing chess and hanging out with new folks. I mean, school's school, innit? But I expect that charms will be fun. Heard Binns, the history teacher, is a dead bore. Literally. He's a ghost. Could you imagine learning from a ghost?" Ron exclaimed.

"Yeah, imagine that," Harry murmured, smiling. Master Lee simply raised a brow.

Suddenly, their compartment door opened, and the blond boy from the wand shop sauntered in.

"They're saying that Harry Potter is in this compartment. Is that you?"

Harry nodded, not saying anything, but remembering where his déjà vu came from. He and this Ron character had given him the same house speech, except this guy was a snake, where Ron was a lion.

Interesting.

"Draco, Draco Malfoy. This is Crabbe and this is Goyle," he said, introducing the two linemen behind him. "I can introduce you to the right sort of families, help you on your way," speaking pompously, Draco held his hand out.

Harry took it and shook.

"Thanks for that offer, Mr. Malfoy. But you may want to reconsider."

Draco sat opposite Harry, ignoring the fuming red-head to his side.

"And why would I want to reconsider, Mr. Potter."

"Well, I'm brand new to this magic stuff. Probably be pants at it. I've nothing to offer in return. But, I'll tell you what. How about a pact of neutrality, with the goal of allies in the end?"

Draco thought it over. His father had ordered him to get Potter's ear if he could. It seemed as though he had. And it was peeving a Weasley mightily, which was just a side benefit.

They shook hands again, and Malfoy and his friends left, satisfied.

As soon as the compartment door shut, Ron exploded.

"What on Earth are you doing? Shaking the hand of the likes of Draco bleeding Malfoy? Are you barmy?"

Harry stared at Ron coolly, they quietly asked, "What business it is of yours what people I am polite to?"

"You don't go bein' polite to snakes. Everybody knows they're just waiting for an opportunity to kill decent wizards. Are you one of them, then? A dark wizard?" Ron practically screamed at Harry who simply waited for the red-head to stop ranting.

"I am simply unwilling to make an enemy of someone who has the potential to make my next seven years a misery. You might want to consider the same." Harry said calmly then returned to reading.

Ron was embarrassed that he'd lost his temper with The Harry Potter. He may have just lost his chance at being Harry's best mate, which had been his short life's goal.

Further into the ride, two children came in looking for a toad. Ron, having forgotten that he was on shaky ground with Harry, joked, "Imagine, bringing a toad to Hogwarts."

Though Harry had made it a point in his time to keep a low profile, he couldn't help but think, "Yeah, almost as bad as bringing a rat."

But he didn't want to be enemies of this one any more than he wanted to be enemies with Malfoy. So he simply remained silent. Master Lee smiled, glad that his student did not wear his heart on his sleeve.


	3. Chapter 3

(OK so it's taking me time to get anywhere, but I promise, the entirety of this story is outlined. I'm just fleshing it out. Too much, I think. The rest is not so detailed. This part is first year starting with the sorting. I will not have the canonical sorting… sorry. And other students may be in the wrong house. Sorry.)

When they were warned to prepare for Hogwarts, Harry pulled out his plain black robe to put over his clothes. He shoved his watch cap in his pocket, as that would serve as his pointy hat, if he needed it. Pocketing his prepared vial for supper (Astrid had warned him he'd not be able to take personal effects into the hall tonight), he placed his satchel into his trunk. Master Lee took the opportunity to fade back into his tent; he'd no desire to watch children eat.

"Wow, your trunk is more beat up than mine," Ron commented, looking at the almost derelict-looking box. "Heirloom?"

"No," Harry answered, not wanting to give away more than he had to, but knowing he should at least try to be friendly. "I don't really care what something looks like. This might look beat up, but it has three expanded compartments and it works fine if it is used. It's a travel trunk. I figure to use it after I graduate, you know?"

Ron nodded, noting the Boy Who Lived wasn't a snob like Malfoy, at least.

Harry greeted Hagrid, introducing Ron. They met up with the girl and boy of toad fame (Hermione and Neville, it seemed) and agreed to share a boat to the castle.

The sight of the castle was, as intended, awe-inspiring. The brief wait in the hall was interrupted by the arrival of the Hogwarts ghosts, and Harry wondered if they'd be able to see Master Lee. Unlike many of the other first years, Harry was not completely surprised by the ghosts; having a ghostly tutor, after all, inured him to the sight. He'd discuss the pros and cons of this development with his teacher when he had a chance.

And then the doors to the hall opened, and he wondered no more. Taking the opportunity to turn off his notice-me-not charm (that he'd surreptitiously turned on during the boat ride), Harry studied the Great Hall with as much awe as every other first year. He heard Hermione mention the enchantments in the ceiling and smiled. She might be one he could tolerate in this mad world of magicals.

Harry quietly observed and politely clapped as the first few of the group of students were sorted. He listened as his potential friends Hermione and Neville were sorted into Gryffindor, and he wondered if cross-house friendships were encouraged or even tolerated.

When it was his turn to don the hat, Harry walked calmly to the stool, face as placid as he could make it behind his growing occlumency shields. As soon as the hat was placed on his head, he heard the thoughts of the hat.

"Interesting, interesting. Good mind here. Plenty of ambition, plenty of courage. Not so much to be loyal to, but you are loyal to those who've earned your trust. Where to put you, where to put you…" the hat murmured.

"Please, Mr. Hat, if it matters, I prefer not to be in Gryffindor or Slytherin."

"And why ever not, Mr. Potter?"

"Seems like they're trained to hate each other. I have a feeling that I'm already in the middle of a magical feud. I just want to keep my head down and graduate. I just want to learn magic."

The hat listened to Harry's reasoning and at the same time sorted through Harry's memories. Seeing Annabelle and Edgar settled the matter.

"I see, then," the hat murmured, "With two best friends who preen and caw, better be RAVENCLAW!"

The crowd clapped politely, though many faces were quite confused. Many, it seemed, had expected Harry Potter – or rather, the Boy Who Lived – to be a lion. That he was an eagle was not concerning, as such, but simply confusing.

Their hero was a bookworm?

Ronald Weasley, nervously waiting his turn at the stool, wondered less than others. As they'd shared a compartment, he'd noticed that Potter read more than talked, and he didn't seem to have a set opinion on anything. He was too wishy-washy to be a lion. Shame, though. For Potter, anyhow. Everyone knew Gryffindor was the best house.

Harry made his way to the table of the eagles and introduced himself, taking a seat then turning to watch the rest of the sorting. As the food appeared on the plates, he fielded questions from every direction. He was learning quickly that people would expect quite a lot from him because of the legend. He was very glad about the tutoring Master Lee had given him through the summer.

But he would be keeping his notice-me-not on between classes and for most meals. This constant peppering of questions and staring and whispering was bothering him, and it was only the first meal.

The other first year claws, who were proud at first to be in the same house as Harry Potter, didn't quite know what to make of him. He was standoffish but not unfriendly. The dorms were set for two or three to a room. This year, there were five male firsties.

Not wanting to appear special, Harry volunteered to go in the room for three. Each bed had a place at the end of it for a trunk, a wardrobe on one side, and a desk with bookshelf on the other. Harry's bed was last. His trunk was in the place of the wardrobe, in the corner, and the desk was against the other wall… whoever had set things up so quickly had known he had a wardrobe in his trunk, possibly even about the library section.

Magic was weird, but it was sure handy!

As the boys were settling in, Harry got his caddy and pajamas out. The three boys shared a single bathroom, and that was a convenient setup for Harry. After getting ready, he came back to his bed, got out his grandmother's quilt, put it under the Ravenclaw spread, hopped in his bed, where he was joined by Bub, then closed his curtains.

Before he even could think about it, it was time to get up. Master Lee had excused him from activity for a full day, but he needed to find a place to do his exercises, or he would have to pay the piper. Picking out a fresh uniform, he noted the blue and bronze had been added already. He loaded his class books, potions kit, and several notebooks into his satchel, put some fruit and veg in his lunch box, which also went into his satchel, along with his water bottle.

Making his way through the castle, his heightened mind remembered the way they had come back from the Great Hall the night before. When he arrived in the hall, he noticed that a few students and teachers had already arrived there. Among them was his head of house.

As he walked to the Ravenclaw table, he tried to catch the eye of Professor Flitwick. The diminutive professor smiled and waved to his new claw. After a few minutes, the professor moved from the teacher's table down to the student table.

"My, you're an early riser, Mr. Potter. I normally come back in an hour or so to distribute schedules."

"I actually had some questions, sir." Harry waited politely for permission to continue. The man nodded.

"First, I have a medical condition that requires a certain amount of exercise. I can get a healer's note if you need."

"That won't be necessary," the professor smiled.

"Ok, well, are there any rooms that I can exercise in? Can I run in the mornings? Can I swim anywhere?"

"There is a weight room and exercise room – normally only the Quiddich players use it, but I'll have Davies – he's our captain – show you where it is. It's stocked with all sorts of muggle exercise machines made to work here. First come, first serve, I believe. And if you exercise at this hour, I think only the fanatical Gryffindor team might challenge you for the equipment. There is, of course, Black Lake - which has some hot springs feeding it so is never as cold as it looks - to swim in, and there is a pool in the dungeon level, though we require that you are certified to swim before you are allowed to use either. Our flying instructor staffs the pool most evenings for one hour. You are allowed out of the castle but on grounds from 6 am til 8pm daily."

Harry smiled. That would work. "I also play piano, sir. Are there any music rooms?"

"There are! They aren't in as much use as we no longer offer an arts curriculum, and arts are never as popular as sports. But there are a few practice rooms and I believe Grace Turpin can show you how to find and sign up for time in those."

"Wow! Thanks! Is there a map of the castle?"

Flitwick giggled, "No, there isn't. First, as a magical castle, some things, like the stairs, change. Second, part of the charm of first year is exploring and finding your way."

Harry looked dubious at this pronouncement, but Flitwick smiled. "Break your fast, young Mr. Potter. By the time you're done, I'll have your schedule, then you can go get your books for classes.

As luck would have it, the first year Claws had a double potions with Hufflepuff to start the year. Harry and his fellow eagles made their way to the dungeon levels, following their prefect, a Penelope Clearwater. After delivering the firsties, she made her way to her own class. Another prefect would guide them after potions to history of magic.

As Harry sat, he noticed the movement of the students around him. Most students didn't get anything out, unsure of whether they would be taking notes or making a potion. Harry got out a notebook – his first for a magical subject – and prepared by marking the date and time in the top left of the first notes page.

Just as he finished, the door banged open and the professor – Snape if he remembered correctly – strode into the room.

The man, who resembled a bad horror movie villain, took roll (making note of Harry's supposed fame) and gave an obviously rehearsed first-day-of-potions lecture.

At one point, he decided it was time to test out Harry's status – or to try to humiliate Harry. Harry didn't care which.

"So, Mr. Potter, tell us what the difference between monks hood and wolfsbane are?"

"Sir," Harry answered politely, "they are different preparations of the same plant, also known as aconite, sir." He didn't smile. He didn't frown. He didn't look his professor in the eye. He simply, calmly answered the question.

"Hmm, a very Ravenclaw answer, but I suppose that can't be helped." The potions master seemed to be puzzled by the respect that Harry had shown. He asked a few more questions from the first five chapters of the potions book, to which Harry correctly and politely answered.

Perhaps, thought Snape, the child wasn't a dunderhead.

"As this is a double class today, we will be doing our first week's brewing. The first potion you will attempt to brew is called the cure for boils. It is an elementary potion, extremely simple to make. I have no doubt the majority of you will fail in this endeavor. Directions are on the board and in your books. Turn to page 25 in your books. Begin by setting out all equipment you believe you will need to brew this potion. You may proceed to procuring ingredients from your stores or the cabinet ONLY when I have approved of your setup. You may begin."

Harry started with marking down the fact that they were brewing the cure for boils. He opened his book and noticed the potion was not on page 25. He had told the book store that he would take older editions, and this one was in fine condition, even had decent notes in the margin. He'd remembered seeing the potion, so he quickly scanned the index to see the correct page. Then he compared the directions on the board to the ones in his book.

They were very similar with two noted exceptions: the older potion called for shrake spines, and the newer one called for 5 counterclockwise stirs. Also, the older potion seemed to allow for more of a brewer's eye for how much of each ingredient to add. The newer one was more precise and exact. He noted these things in his notebook then set out his brewing equipment, waiting for the professor to either question or approve his choices.

"Was a basic student kit not good enough for the precious Boy Who Lived, then? Hmm?" Harry hadn't even heard the professor approach but had learned to deal with surprise through many years of Dursley conditioning. He learned through poundings not to jump when startled.

"Sir, I purchased this kit as I did all my things – from a second hand store."

Snape was about to sneer when he noticed that the book Harry held was heavily used – as was the outside of the kit. He decided he would investigate further later, sniffed, and grudgingly approved the equipment setup.

Harry pulled out the ingredients, and after getting sneered permission from the professor (really, his disdain was nothing on Petunia Dursley's, so it bothered Harry not a whit) he began to brew. He followed the recipe on the board but noted in his own book what the colors and textures of the potion should be at each step. Samesh quietly tutored him on how different amounts of ingredients changed those properties and Harry wrote those tidbits down, hoping to help commit them to memory.

Perhaps, he thought as he waited for the next stage of the potion brewing – he should make flash cards for each of the ingredients and the overall potions.

As he finished his potion, putting a sample in a student vial to be graded, he compared his own work to that of the students around him. Some were still brewing. Most were finishing or finished. His product looked very close to the finished sample that sat at the professor's station in the front of class. Some students' brews might be closer, but his was more than acceptable. Nodding to himself, he began to clean up his station.

As he handed in his potion, he gathered the courage to ask the professor, who didn't seem to tolerate students too well, a question.

Perhaps he should have let the hat put him in the house of the brave!

"Sir, are the five extra stirs widdershins with the acacia stirring rod there to compensate for the loss of the shrake spine? My book is an older edition, and those were the major difference I noted."

Snape looked at him as though he had done something interesting, like he was a talking monkey or some such. "Though I do not expect you to comprehend this, yes. The shrake spine is less volatile than porcupine needles. Counterclockwise stirring with the calming acacia allows the removal of the shrake from the potion. Mr. Potter, why would the potion have been changed?"

Harry pondered the question for a moment before positing an answer, "I would guess that the shrake is more rare, and therefore more expensive. Porcupine quills are common and therefore cheap."

Snape raised an eyebrow and almost – ALMOST – lifted a corner of his mouth. "2 points to Ravenclaw for showing some logic. That is indeed the reason. Shrakes are not so rare, but are rather hard to catch and harvest, thus the cost in procuring their spines. Since you are so… curious, Mr. Potter, you can submit a minimum of 2 substitutions found in each of 10 of our upcoming potions. You will discover the reason for the substitution as well as how, if at all, the substitution has changed each of the potions. You can find the proper edition of our text in the library and the next ten potions on the syllabus."

Harry didn't whinge or even sigh. He just nodded and finished packing his things.

Later in the day, Snape voluntarily sat next to that great oaf, Hagrid, for lunch. "You took the Potter boy to get his things, yes?"

"Sure did!" Hagrid agreed as he sliced at the meat on his plate. "Funniest thing. Bought almost all his books and equipment second-hand. Even clothes, he only bought what he needed. And you shoulda seen the books. Bound to be a claw, that one. And, he likes animals." The last was said with a vast amount of pride.

"Yes," Flitwick joined in, "the kneazle mix he's brought with him is very popular already."

Severus Snape turned out the inane conversation, pondering what he'd learned about Lily's boy. He was, all looks aside, not a James Potter clone. That alone was worth celebrating.

The weeks went by, and Harry fell into a routine. The courses were anywhere from excellent (transfigurations and charms were his current favorites) to abysmal (history of sleeping, anyone?) to painful (though he seemed to be the only one getting the intense headaches in DADA), but he did his solitary best to master each subject. The solitude was not necessarily by choice. His classes were mostly with the Hufflepuffs who, for the most part, moved as a collective. The other claws, though polite enough, didn't make any friendly overtures. Nor did Harry make any back.

Master Lee had him booked from dawn til dusk, and though he could feel that he was learning and growing, he felt… lonely. Bub and Master Lee were his only real company, and he had to be careful about talking to Master Lee. The ghosts hadn't noticed him and neither had the portraits. Though he sometimes was starved for human company, he was glad to simply be a student. He'd been having a great time living under the radar, as it were. It was only a matter of time before his luck ran out.

And it did, that Halloween.

Harry had decided to pass on the feast – why would he want to celebrate his parents' deaths? He ate a sandwich and some fruit and worked on some of his homework before deciding he needed to walk. Now that he knew just what had happened to his parents, he found this day to be quite unsettling.

He left Ravenclaw tower with the possible idea of going to the astronomy tower in the back of his mind. As he got to the first floor, he smelled it. Then, he heard the scream. Then he saw the girl – Granger, he was sure – running toward him, a great lumbering beast behind her. What it lacked in speed and grace it made up for in stride length.

"Mountain troll," Master Lee stated.

Harry's heart beat raced, and his palms sweated, but he didn't freeze. Instead, he prepared. Going through the jinxes and charms he knew – he wasn't quite strong enough for curses yet – and studied the terrain. He was at the top of the stairs to the dungeon. "Granger, here!" he called.

She ran to him, her chest heaving. The troll changed directions, slightly off-balance at the turn. Harry sent a tripping jinx at it and levitated its massive club, clenched in the beast's hand, over the open stairwell. The combination of factors was enough to send the troll careening over the side of the stairs, down to the lower level. It probably wasn't dead, but it seemed to be down for a bit, anyway.

Granger – Hermione – leaned against the wall of the staircase landing, shaking. Then, she sunk to the floor.

Harry lowered to the floor next to her.

"Okay?" he asked.

She nodded, still shaking a mile a minute.

"Some trick or treat, yeah?"

She snickered, then shook more with a combination of laughter and tears.

"Hey, hey now. No crying. Nuh uh." Harry pretended to pull away. "Don't you know girl tears are like kryptonite to us guys?"

That got the laughter going again.

"Thanks, Harry. Thanks so much. You saved my life."

"Yeah? Wow, I guess I really am a hero!" He puffed out his chest and she shook her head.

"Well, bona fide hero or not, thanks. I was a goner before you came along."

"Yeah, about that, why aren't you with the rest in the hall?" he asked. Her face closed off.

"Why aren't you?" she countered.

"Umm, they're celebrating the murder of my parents. Seems rather… crass, I think is the word?"

Her eyes widened. "Oh, I'm so sorry! That was unbelievably rude of me."

"S'okay. Until this summer, I thought they were a couple of dead-beat drunks. I feel more guilty than anything. This place, you know? It's so… weird."

She sighed. "I was in the bathroom because someone said something… I was trying to help him and he called me a know-it-all and he was so cruel. They're no different than the others. And…" she trailed off, not knowing how to talk about how lonely she was.

"And you're lonely," Harry ended with a sudden insight. "Me, too. Most of the magicals only want to talk to The Boy Who Lived. They don't really know me. But I have an idea…" his mind worked. This could be an excellent opportunity if he phrased it right. "Maybe we could start a study group? The best of each class? What do you think?"

"Do you think anyone else would want to?" she asked doubtfully.

"Sure. There have to be more of us nerds around. I'll ask around, maybe meet you about it before dinner Sunday?" She sniffed, then noticed the cadre of students approaching them. Apparently, the feast was being evacuated. Someone had noted the troll… though why they would send the students out to greet the troll was a mystery to Harry. Magicals, he thought, shaking his head. He simply joined the claws and waved to Hermione, who marched off to find the lions.

He was never questioned – he found out later that Hermione hadn't been, either. The teachers simply believed the troll had been clumsy and fallen by itsself, he supposed. Whatever the case, he wasn't going to bring attention to himself. He didn't notice the portraits already spreading the tale of his bravery throughout the castle, to those ears listening for any interesting tidbits about him.

His lack of knowledge that he was being watched didn't stop him being suspicious, though. It seemed that someone was already targeting him for something. He'd gone to have tea with Hagrid the first week of school, and as he had attempted to munch on rock cakes, he noticed a newspaper highlighting the break-in at Gringotts. Hagrid, who had no other books or papers in his hut had just this one, and it happened to cover the break-in in which someone had attempted theft from the very vault Hagrid had emptied when he was with Harry. And it wasn't at all suspicious, the way Hagrid moved it twice then made sure to tell Harry it was not Harry's business. Of course, the belated birthday of the hand-carved flute was a bit puzzling, but it didn't distract Harry from the obvious plant of information.

Harry had ignored the third floor "corridor of death", but somehow, Filch was complaining quite heartily about three-headed dogs and students breaking rules, trespassing in the one corridor the Headmaster had deemed off limits just as Harry was studying the trophies in the trophy room… Of course, any Ravenclaw worth his salt would know that a Cerberus was a guard dog. So whatever came from the vault was being guarded in Hogwarts. Harry never knew that the present Hagrid'd given him was yet another piece to the puzzle: the flute would've put the Cerberus to sleep. But going up against the trials of Dumbledore was never on Harry's agenda.

And though both he and Master Lee felt that the breadcrumbs were a bit obvious, Hermione didn't even suspect that Hagrid letting slip that whatever was under the Cerberus was between Nicholas Flamel and the headmaster was curious-student bait. It wasn't at all strange that this slip happened just after Harry had started eating many meals with Hermione and Neville – sometimes at the Gryffindor table, sometimes at Ravenclaw.

Harry knew better. Someone was playing a tune, and they were expecting him to dance to it. But he ignored it. He was busy enough with all his schoolwork, music, normal studies, exercise, and his new cross-house study group. His new - dare he think it? - friends.

He rarely sat with Susan and Ernie at the Hufflepuff table – they were so buried in the Hufflepuff collective that he felt uncomfortable there. Neville and Hermione were outcasts, and Harry liked that.

He never sat with Draco or Tracey.

All of these students, however, were members of the mostly-secret study group.

The day after Halloween, Harry studied the standings in the different classes, thought about the intel he had on the different folks in top positions, and fleshed out this "study group."

First, he approached Draco Malfoy after lunch.

"Malfoy, hold up, please," Harry spoke in a clear but not too loud voice.

Draco turned, fingering his wand, to see Harry Potter coming toward him. Potter had kept an unbelievably low profile. Most students couldn't recall seeing him at most meals, he didn't volunteer any answers in classes, and he'd even done the minimum to get certified in the flying lessons.

"What can I do for you, Potter?" he asked, nodding the clear to his guards.

"Listen, I'm putting together a study group. You interested?"

"Study group?" Draco sneered.

"Best of the best. You in potions, Davis, in your house, at charms. Bones for history, Macmillan for astronomy," Harry paused, seeing Draco nod.

"Good call – his father is an astrologer and his mom is an arithmancer. You think you can get them?"

Harry shrugged, frowning slightly. "Most of them will come for 'the Boy Who Lived' – out of curiosity if nothing else. They'll stay when the group helps their grades. Anyway, Longbottom is a prodigy in herbology and Granger is a transfiguration genius."

Draco sneered, "a mudblood? A squib? Really?"

"Do you know of anyone who's better? And I'm pretty good at defense, Quirrel not withstanding."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "What's in it for me?"

Harry chuckled. "Besides getting top marks? Connections. Before you say anything: Bones has an aunt who is really high up in the DMLE. Macmillan and Longbottom both have family seats in the Wizengamot. Say, in 40 years, you need to get through some legislation, but your block doesn't have enough votes. But you have an old study buddy in Longbottom. Think long game, Draco. Wizards can live something like 200 years. You never know when you might need someone who isn't naturally a friend."

"You have a point. I don't like it, but it's a point. What about other claws? Got to be someone for transfiguration in the house of the eagles."

Shaking his head, Harry answered. "Claws don't like to study together. They see study as a competition. I see it as a means to an end."

Quirking an eyebrow, Draco asked, "Your end?"

"Knowledge is power." Harry smirked. "I simply want power over my own life. Never had that before. Might be fun."

Draco shook his head. "With that ambition, given your station, you should be in Slytherin. I'll talk to Davis. When are you thinking?"

"Sunday afternoons. Maybe 4? Before dinner?"

"I'll find us a neutral, empty classroom. Let you know tomorrow at lunch."

"Thanks."

The study club met in Draco's purloined classroom. Of course, Master Lee had checked it out first. It was an old, unused classroom with no portraits in it. There were the standard safety charms and alarms if offensive magic was used. Otherwise, it seemed a good room. After some discussion, they agreed to keep the club to themselves. They had different reasons – the Slytherins wouldn't give away any advantage; the Gryffindors had been ostracized by their fellow lions for different reasons; the Hufflepuffs saw that Harry didn't like large crowds and, as it was his idea, felt it was the best way to encourage the boy hero to make friends. They met a minimum of two hours on weekends, though that expanded through the years. By the end of third year, all were the tops of their year, except Harry. He kept his profile low, keeping a strictly E average in every class, on purpose. He wondered if anyone would notice, but kept to it anyway. Everyone knew, only contacts, OWLS and NEWTS mattered in the magical world. Your second year astronomy grade was forgotten.

But this is, again, ahead of where we are in this tale, so we must now go back to first year, where Harry and his study group were busy learning magic and making friends.

By Christmas, the study group had all been brought in on the secret of the Third Floor Corridor. Hermione showed how she was properly sorted by her unswerving curiosity about things that the others deemed "too dangerous" to pursue. I mean, if there's a Cerberus at the start… what more could the headmaster have behind the creature? Susan, Neville, and Ernie didn't want to know. Draco, Tracey, and Harry admitted curiosity as to why the headmaster would bring an item of such obvious value and danger into the castle. Harry suspected, of course, that it was a test. Possibly for him. Perhaps the headmaster wanted to see if there was any truth to the Boy Who Lived persona.

Harry didn't really care. But the situation got stranger over the Christmas holidays. Harry was one of the few students who chose to stay at the castle over the holidays. Both Hermione and Neville had hinted that they could invite him home, but he declined. He wanted extra study time. The group was taking away time that he spent on normal work. Not much, but he wanted to push and make sure he did really well on his end of year exams there, where it really did count.

So it was that he woke alone on Christmas morning by Bub, bapping him on the head. The cat was better than any alarm, mundane or magical. It was like any other morning, or so he thought. He was preparing to go run on the treadmill when he noticed a pile of presents at the foot of his bed.

Smiling, he reached for them. He was glad he'd thought to order presents for his study group friends through Robbie. Opening a variety of sweets, books, and magical doodads, Harry found one extra present. It was light and flexible and the card was strangely unsigned. He opened it to find a cloak. He studied the accompanying note more seriously now.

"Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well."

His blood went hot then cold. He needed to go somewhere he could openly talk to Master Lee. He had slept in a bit, so he decided to do his run around the quiddich pitch. He didn't even stop to pet Bub, who could sense his master's ire.

Harry went round the first laps in a sprint, then slowed. "Master Lee. It was my Dad's cloak. The one missing from Gringotts. Whoever had it has access to Hogwarts. My enemy is in my midst, has been the whole time. He's extremely powerful - enough to get the goblins' eye. Pretty sure it's Dumbledore, yeah?"

His voice was tight with frustration. His mentor had come to the conclusion earlier, but wanted his student to come to the conclusion on his own.

"What will you do?" Lee asked quietly.

"What can I do?" The boy's ragged voice showed his frustration. He pushed himself harder. He thought through several scenarios as he worked his body to exhaustion. Finally, he slowed, summarizing all he knew.

"My enemy is the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. The Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. He's respected by everyone. And he's my headmaster. I have no power. He has all the power. All I can do is play the part he's placed me in and hope that he underestimates me. Time is my only ally. He is not young; I am. I can only work as hard as I can, keep my head down, and hope that someday, I can move out of his base of power."

"You do not want revenge?"

Harry stopped then, dropping his head down to his knees and panting. "Want? Yes I want. But I do not need… which would cause me to put myself in a position where I could be used more. Yes? I need to get away from his power web. Revenge is secondary to that. I would like to get my family possessions back. I will, someday, reveal what a criminal that man is. But for now, I need to keep the course."

"You are learning, young wizard," Master Lee smiled. "I think perhaps the training he ensured you had as a child did not have the end he wished."

Harry tilted his head as he started walking the path, still cooling down from his earlier furious run. "What do you mean, training? My life had no training, only…" Harry stopped then.

He knew from his head of house that his mother and sister's falling out was known to others. He knew that his former prison was paid for by his enemy with Harry's own money. Dumbledore wanted him in that house, where he would learn no magic and be treated with, at best, cold disdain. What could be the benefit?

His mind raced.

"He wanted me to be grateful? To look at the wizarding world as a refuge?"

Lee nodded. "At the least. I believe he also wanted you isolated, though we have not found the reason for that as of yet. It will come. You already know much, and it has been but a few months. Patience, young wizard. Now, you need to continue to train. Your run was not sufficient. Run up and down the stadium seating ten times."

Harry didn't groan, out loud anyway. He'd unmasked his enemy, retrieved one of his family's possessions, and sussed out one of the motives for the treachery. Not bad for a Christmas morning.

At lunch, he found that so few students had stayed that house tables had been removed. He sat with the few students, eating a Christmas lunch, pulling crackers, being merry. Hagrid invited him for tea the next day, and Harry was again glad he had thought to contact the owner of Script for the scariest bestiary he could find. Hagrid would probably use it for bedtime stories. In return he got a photo album, full of pictures of his parents and their friends. Harry was touched beyond speech.

Between studies and exercise and music, Harry had some time for fun over the break. He took to exploring the castle. He played with Bub who showed Harry all the passages he'd found and he played out doors, reuniting with Belle and Ed, who'd finished their postal training.

After discussing it with Master Lee, Harry decided to take the bait his Christmas present had given. He'd studied the cloak with his glasses and found a compulsion and tracking charm had been added to the natural enchantments. He buried the fury that this man had dared tamper with a family heirloom, then, after hours, donned the cloak. But he kept the mage sight on.

He found himself in a dusty corridor he'd not been in before. Before him was a room that just begged to be opened and explored. As he opened the door, he noticed two things. The first was a mirror that glowed with enchantment. The second was a disillusioned wizard in the corner of the room. Approaching the mirror would put that wizard behind him, but Harry saw no choice. He walked to the mirror and, avoiding looking in the glass, read the wording above. It was obviously backwards – it was a mirror after all. The letters were also spaced in a way to trick the mind. But in a few moments he had it, and read it aloud.

"I show not your face but your heart's desire," he slowly stated.

"Very good!" the man behind him congratulated, startling Harry.

He used the excuse of that scare to turn and disarm the wizard. "Expelliarmus!" he shouted, making sure to emphasize his "terror."

The wand the wizard had just used to reveal himself popped out of his own hand and into the young Harry's. Now, most wands are finicky. They pick a wizard – no one's quite sure how – and they keep allegiance to that wizard, mostly. This wand, however, was different. It picked allegiance simply by being "won" in a duel. Harry had disarmed the Headmaster, and for some reason, the wand of power liked Harry.

The wand was now his.

Though Harry felt the bonding, the sparks, he ignored it. "S-s-sorry, Headmaster. I didn't mean…" he stammered, handing back the wand.

Dumbledore took it, smiling, not showing any other emotion than humor. "No, of course not. I startled you, I am sure, and for that I must apologize."

"I… err… I know I'm not supposed to be out after curfew…"

"Oh, life would be quite boring if we followed all rules to the letter. I know it stretches credibility, but even I was young once. I'm sure I did a fair amount of exploration of Hogwarts myself. Why, I remember when Professor Belleview caught me trying to… well, I digress. Come, young Harry, sit with me and look at this incredible mirror."

Harry wasn't sure it was at all wise to look into the mirror. His mage view showed that it had all sorts of mental enchantments. A type of legilimency, he supposed.

Did the professor want to see what it was Harry desired? Was he checking to see what drove his young adversary?

Why did he think of Harry as an adversary? Or did he? Did he see Harry as a pawn? Harry wished he knew. He wished he wasn't on this strange old man's radar, at all. But wishes got him nowhere. He sat, not having to feign nerves, next to the Headmaster.

"This mirror is quite a complex piece of magic. Quite wonderful and horrible at the same time."

"Does it read your mind?"

"It does," Dumbledore nodded, looking pleased. "It finds what you most desire and shows it to you, just as the inscription says."

"That does sound wonderful. But why would that be horrible, sir?"

Dumbledore looked down over his glasses at his student. His eyes were suddenly quite serious. "It does not do to dwell on dreams, Harry. Good men have wasted away in front of this mirror, lured by a dream."

Begs the question of why you'd put it where a student might find it, Harry thought. But aloud, he said, "Well, I won't even look then. I don't want to waste away! I'm only eleven!"

Dumbledore chuckled then, quite comfortable in his role of kindly mentor. "Alas, I have a great deal more than eleven years to my credit, but I find I must agree with your sentiment. My happiness is found outside my mind. Speaking of happiness, how have you been finding your time at Hogwarts, Mr. Potter?" he asked, abruptly.

"It was confusing at first. But I like it quite a bit. The classes are interesting. And I've made some good friends. I thought I wouldn't at first. Everyone was staring and whispering. But now…" Harry stopped, realizing that he'd probably gone too far in his acting. He wanted to seem completely guileless, though he allowed himself to show his Ravenclaw mind.

"I had noticed that, after the great feast, most of your fellow students eschewed their scrutiny of your person. As you are something of a household name, I found it curious. I believe that the necklace on your person tells the tale?" Dumbledore asked, almost as though he were accusing Harry of having some forbidden possession.

"Yeah," Harry admitted, using the 'shame' as an excuse to not make any eye contact possible. "When I was in the Alley this summer with Hagrid, I got a notice-me-not charm. The jeweler showed me how to turn it on and off. I decided, after the feast, to only have it off during classes."

"I think that you should turn it off, Harry. It is not a good policy to isolate yourself."

"I've read code of conduct, sir, and I didn't find any rules stating it's not allowed," Harry stated, aiming for both confused and concerned.

"It isn't a rule," Dumbledore hedged, "but as your guardian, I think it's best."

"You're my guardian?" Harry asked, confusion evident. "So, I should live with you?"

"I am not your guardian legally… just as the headmaster of the school," the headmaster equivocated.

"Ok, well, I'll think about it, sir. I really like the way things have been so far this year, though. I got mobbed the first time Hagrid took me to the alley, you know?"

The old wizard nodded, not happy at this manner in which the youth had turned the argument to his own answers. Dumbledore would have to find another way if he wanted Harry to turn off the charm.

"It is getting well beyond your bedtime, so you'd best head back to Gryffindor tower," the headmaster spoke without really measuring his words, his mind obviously elsewhere.

"I'm a Ravenclaw, sir. But thanks. And thanks for not taking points for being out of bounds. And sorry for the wand thing!" Harry rushed out, taking the opportunity to get away.

Dumbledore sat a few more moments in front of the cursed mirror. He had work to do that night, and he had plans to make. The boy showed some promise, but needed more honing, to be sure.

The students returned from break and school returned to normal. There were quiddich matches – the first one in the spring was insane! The bludger (an iron ball hit back and forth to distract the players who were trying to score points) went wild and hit the bleachers where the students were sitting. It smashed through seats not two feet from where Harry had been cheering on his fellow eagles against the lions of Gryffindor. A much subdued crowd – and in the case of several Ravenclaws, a bruised and cut crowd – watched the end of the game, eyes following bludgers more than play at that point.

It was the last quiddich game Harry would attend at Hogwarts.

Through it all, though, tension seemed to ratchet up. Hermione realized that a philosopher's stone was being hidden in Hogwarts. Neville and Ernie separately realized that both Professors Quirrel and and Snape both had magical bites – potentially from the Cerberus guarding the stone. At least one of them was most likely after it. Susan wrote to her aunt who promptly wrote back that she must be imagining things and to keep her head down.

The final straw, though, was when Hagrid got a dragon's egg – the one thing he had always wanted. Harry finagled exactly how Hagrid won the egg while Hermione listened in.

"Don't you see, Harry, someone now knows how to get past Fluffy… of all the names for a giant Cerberus. I love Hagrid, I do, but his priorities…" she harrumphed.

"I agree, but what can we do? We've told your head of house. She's agreed to take care of Hagrid's little reptile problem, quietly so as Hagrid won't go to prison, but when we told our suspicions, she told us to butt out. Politely, mind you, but it was a MYOB, nonetheless."

"A good bit of advice, Granger," Draco added. "I, for one, find it highly suspicious that all of the clues have led us to this life-or-death puzzle. Someone's setting us up for something."

Tracey, the other (and more cunning) Slytherin nodded. "As I once heard a muggleborn say, wake up and smell the manipulation. I won't be dancing to anyone's tune, not at the risk of my life or my magic."

It was settled, then. The professors didn't believe there was a danger. Hermione had been outvoted. The study group would leave the Flamel problem alone.

Harry was relieved that common sense had overwhelmed curiosity. He wanted nothing to do with what he was sure was one of the Headmaster's games. So it was with a great deal of surprise that he found himself, one evening well after lights out, in a dank chamber, in front of the Mirror of Erised.

The last thing he remembered was going to sleep in his own bed in Ravenclaw tower.

"Harry Potter. Your services are required," a calm and creepy voice stated from somewhere behind him.

Harry turned slightly to see Professor Quirrel.

"You don't seem surprised on seeing P-p-professor Qu-Quirrel here, Potter," the man sneered.

"Actually, I'm rather surprised at finding myself here. Last I remember, I was going to sleep in the tower. Your quest for the stone is between you and the staff. Why'd you have to go and bring me into it? More, HOW did you bring me into it? You're not Ravenclaw's head!"

"Slytherin, the best of the founders, made sure that no part of the castle was inaccessible to him. He had secret ways of getting into the towers, the badgers' home… and that is how I got to you tonight. My master is the heir of Slytherin. No part of the castle is inaccessible to him. No part is inaccessible to me."

Harry thought of his roommates, Bub, all in the room where Quirrel had been. He hoped they were all okay.

As if reading his mind (which was quite possible), Quirrel answerd:

"Your little cat proved a bit of a problem, but he'll sleep off his stunning spell, no doubt. Now, look into the mirror and tell me what you see."

"It's a mirror of desire. I'll see what I desire – namely me being anywhere but here."

"Turn to the mirror, Potter."

"No, I won't do so, Professor."

Quirrel reached for Harry to forcibly move him. At that point, Harry reached up to move Quirrel's hands from him. When skin contacted skin, Quirrel's began to burn.

The shock of the reaction caused Quirrel to push Harry away as his arms began to disintegrate. His body began to fall apart as Harry fell, sideways, into the mirror of Erised.

The mirror shattered, ripping through Harry's hands as he tried to catch himself. Magic from the mirror and, more importantly, from the stone therein, found its way into Harry. Even as Quirrel's body fell into dust, and an evil spirit ("Voldemort," Harry thought) attempted one last time to attack Harry, the magic of the mirror told Harry of the desire, and Harry dodged away from the path. The spirit exited the room just as the other professors entered on the rescue mission.

It seemed that an alarm had gone off in the tower when Harry had been forced from his bed. Dumbledore had been able to deduce who had done the nefarious deed and, what's more, why it had been done. Though several of the minor staff members and ghosts were searching the castle, senior staff had gone to the mirror room directly, bypassing all of the tests.

They found a heavily-bleeding Harry Potter moving out of the way of a very Voldemort-like spirit. Dumbledore cast some sort of magic at the wraith while Flitwick attended to young Harry. Dumbledore's curse did nothing noticeable, and Harry knew he'd had a very narrow miss.

Looking down at his rapidly healing hands, Harry wondered what else would be changing in his life now.

Dumbledore tried to award Harry points for fighting the professor, but Harry refused them. Harry stated that he'd not fought anyone, he'd simply tripped, and the magic from the mirror somehow immolated Quirrel.

No one argued, no points were awarded, and Slytherin won the cup.

Bub and his roommates were all fine, as promised, though Bub was mad that he'd missed out on the adventure. The other boys were shocked that Quirrel had kidnapped Harry, but the fact that there had been a treasure in the castle was fairly well-known at that point, so they figured he'd just wanted a boy hero's help, or to use Harry as a hostage.

No one knew about the shade of Voldemort.

Before the train ride home, he did manage to tell the other members of the study group exactly what had happened. He had weird feelings now, like someone whispering when he looked at certain people, but for the most part, he was okay.

And they all knew that Voldemort wasn't dead, not really. They'd each have to think about that and how their family loyalties would lie if the Dark Lord truly returned.

The train ride home was mostly fun. He sat with Hermione and Neville, with the others from the study group stopping by, and Harry told them all that he didn't receive owls, so not to bother sending post. Draco thought this strange, but Harry just shrugged. He stated that he had fewer than a dozen friends and acquaintances. He could go eight weeks without mail if it meant he didn't have to put up with BWL rubbish.

At the station, Hermione's parents were glad to meet Harry, and upon seeing that he planned to take public transpo back to the Dursley's house, offered (insisted upon) giving him a lift. They quizzed him, politely of course, on the way to Little Whinging, with Harry answering truthfully to the best of his ability. Though Hermione had told them of how she and Harry truly become friends (the night of the troll), she'd not really described the troll. They also hadn't heard how a professor had kidnapped Harry and almost killed him.

They knew that, no matter their qualms, they'd (for all intents and purposes) signed care of Hermione over to the magical world until she was 17. So they needed to find a way to better prepare their daughter for the upcoming school year. Perhaps there were magical settlements in France.

Summer passed much the same as the end of the last summer had. After taking (and, he was relatively sure, passing) his end of year normal exams, he settled back into his routine. His tent was behind the shed. He followed the schedule Master Lee set him, though no matter how hard he worked, his sleep was still restless. The incorporation of the magic from the philosopher's stone and mirror pieces seemed to be affecting his magic more than Madame Pomphrey originally thought.

He felt horribly guilty about the destruction of the stone. He decided to try to contact the Flamels, asking Annabelle and Edgar to see if they could deliver the note that was an apology for destroying their stone. The birds would set out, together, once a week. They would come back but would never surrender the note. They had an assignment, and no matter how long it took, they would deliver that note. Harry thought their stubbornness was funny, but at the same time, quite touching. They were truly his friends. (The task would take over a year, but that, again, is farther ahead in our story than we can afford to skip!)


	4. Chapter 4

(year 1 done. Now, year two. I've got this fleshing out in a not-so-detailed manner down, I think. Once again, unbeta'd (like you can't tell), and mostly based on canon events, influenced by the fantastic fics I've read over the years and lots of my own observations as a teacher)

"Great Harry Potter must not go to Hogwarts this year. Terrible, terrible things happen at Hoggywarts. Harry Potter must not go."

Harry shook his head. He had been out on his morning run when this strange elf appeared. Harry slowed down and dropped into a secluded alcove. "Elf, what's your name, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Great Harry Potter asks Dobby's name," Dobby whispered, astonished.

"Hey, Dobby. I'd offer you a drink or something, but we're pretty far from my house right now."

"Dobby checked Harry Potter's house. Harry Potter never in house. Harry Potter never get mail. Dobby had hard time finding Harry Potter. But Dobby must warn Great Harry Potter."

"Yeah, yeah. Hogwarts is gonna be dead scary this year, yeah?" Dobby nodded, frantically.

"Well, Dobby was it?" at the nod, Harry continued, "Dobby, I never wanted to go to Hogwarts in the first place. My relatives and I tried to hide. They just kidnapped me. I do my best to keep my head down there, but I have to go. They force me."

"Dobby only want to help Great Harry Potter," the little elf looked around frantically and started pulling on his ears.

"And you have. You've warned me, which is more than most would. I'd heed that warning if I could. Since I can't, I'll at least keep my eyes open for first sign, yeah? Thanks, Dobby."

After more caterwauling and reassurances, the strange elf popped away. Harry traded looks with his ghostly tutor, then resumed his run toward his tent at Number 4 Privet Drive.

Toward the end of the summer, he visited Astrid to take care of the first of three full skeleton replacements. She did a complete scan once again, looking over his magical scars, new and old – the non-magical ones were fading nicely. She gave him quite an earful about not coming to her directly after school ended. With that much foreign magic introduced into his system, what if his potions didn't work?

In the end, they had. He was progressing nicely with growth, though he still needed a great deal of help. However, she could now replace any bones that were weak or had bad breaks from… before.

Over the course of a week, she vanished bones and fed him skelegrow. Large portions of the bottom third of his body were re-growing, and his frame expressed its displeasure at this excess work to Harry's entire anatomy. Growing new bones was NOT a comfortable thing to do. Nonetheless, he used the time – in which he could not move any of the bottom half of his body – to study. Master Lee did not let up, making him memorize magical theory and potions ingredients in three languages. It was a miserable week, but it was over in time for him to refill his kit for school.

First, he stopped at Gringotts for an official meeting with Robbie and Grimsneer.

The solicitor had got a stop production on Boy Who Lived merchandise – and wrangled a large portion of the back proceeds into the Potter vault. When Harry asked how he had done it, Robbie showed him his newest tool: a solicitor's pensieve. It allowed Harry to actually view the court proceedings.

**Flashback**

"I ask the forbearance of the court. Because of Mr. Potter's age and status within our society, I ask that all of these proceedings be put under an unbreakable vow of secrecy, and that only our councils, the plantiff, defense, and yourself, your Honour, will be privy to the statements made."

"As the entire matter seems based on Mr. Potter's lack of privacy to this point, I believe I can agree to this, with a dissolving clause. If I rule in favor of Gilded Publishing, the secrecy order will be eradicated."

"I can agree to that, Your Honour," agreed Robbie.

"As can I," stated the solicitor for the publisher/manufacturer. The judge then raised his wand and engaged several anti-listening wards, then enacted a secrecy vow as agreed upon. The proceedings began.

"Your honor, this publishing company has made money, hand over fist, using the Potter name. Nowhere have they provided any documentation that they had permission to do so. No one of any authority gave them leave to do so. They have not contributed one knut to Potter or his family vaults. In exchange, they've made him the target for every budding dark-lord. The indefatigable , unbeatable Boy Who Conquers Everything. They may look at it as a joke, but Mr. Potter's first day in Diagon Alley saw him mobbed.

"The Potter heir was obviously raised to deal with this attention?" the judge asked

"No, sir. The Potter heir was raised in relative squalor in the muggle world."

"Surely the plantiff's attorney exaggerates, your honour," the opposing solicitor protested.

"I could not release this information without a secrecy vow, Your Honour. I would like to present to the court a statement made under veritaserum by Mr Potter about his upbringing. I would also like to admit the healer's report. "

The judge and the solicitor for defense were reading the reports and were both in shock.

The judge looked up at Robbie in disbelief. They were Gringotts certified reports, but he still could not believe what he had read. The solicitor for the defense silently put down his copy of the report, which immediately went into the sealed evidence box. Capitalizing on their shocked silence, Robbie continued.

"Mr. Potter had not even known of magic before his eleventh birthday. Someone saw fit that he was abused and neglected, and at the same time, no one stepped forward to stop the defense from taking advantage of the mystery surrounding Mr. Potter's survival and consequent disappearance. Mr. Potter looks upon that night, some ten years ago, as a tragedy in which his parents were slaughtered and he was sent into indentured servitude. He asks that the defense immediately cease and desist in production of Boy Who Lived books. He asks for a reasonable amount of back profits – he asks, sir, that you determine that amount which would not be considered unfair but would, at the same time, set a precedent for other lawsuits and be a deterrent to anyone else pursuing the course of misusing his name or image."

The judge and solicitor knew that the boy was well within his rights to demand payment for use of his name and image. The law was clear in that. The fact that the publishers of Harry Potter stories and makers of the Harry Potter dolls, represented here today, had never sought permission for their huge Boy Who Lived franchise, but at the same time, had threatened anyone else who attempted to use the Potter Heir's name, put the nail in their proverbial coffin.

Though no one ever knew of it, due to the secrecy agreements, Harry won a great deal of money that day. The publishers issued a statement that basically said, with Harry's re-entry into the magical world, they felt it was the time to discontinue publication of the fictional Boy Who Lived stories and Harry Potter dolls. Harry and Robbie never contradicted them in this.

The major result of the lawsuit was that Harry's vault would be nicely filled.

**End flashback**

Robbie explained to Harry of the outcome of the lawsuit. Though Harry was slightly upset that more people knew of his history with the Dursleys, he realized that it was going to work to his advantage.

The goblins had also been working on his behalf. They had required the pseudo-guardian of record to produce receipts for how he spent the moneys withdrawn or face penalties. As a result, most of that money had also been returned. Harry now had possession of the deed for Number 4 Privet Drive and another deed in the same neighborhood. Studying it, Harry believed it must be the cat lady's house.

As he thought on it, he realized that Bub's status as a kneazle meant the cat lady must be from the magical world, and since Potter funds paid for her house, she was there to spy on Harry. Not to help him, as evidenced by the fact that she never had. She'd never even properly fed him when she babysat him. Bitch.

He informed Robbie of his thoughts on the matter, and the solicitor agreed. He made notes to arrange to question this Ms. Figg – a magical name, to be sure – and to prepare eviction documentation for lack of rent paid, when Harry found a way to purchase his own freedom by way of either magical maturity or emancipation.

Not all the news was good, though. Harry's family's belongings and library were still missing.

As soon as he filled his money pouch, he took his trunk and headed down Abnorm Alley. He refilled his potions stocks and stopped in the clothes store. Though most of his wardrobe was still fine, one uniform and his uniform shoes had been destroyed by Quirrel's attempt on Harry's life. He got replacements, new unmentionables, and some more cool-weather running gear. He refilled his toiletries and got his hair cut. It was strange that he only needed one cut a year, but perhaps that was payback for the nest that was his hair.

He wandered through Samson's treasures then and casually walked to Eamon's shop.

"Hey, it's you! Boy who had a million things to enchant! Ready for school?" Eamon remembered Harry and all the work the boy had brought the year before.

Harry grinned. "Yeah. I actually wanted your help with something. Someone had borrowed a family heirloom, and I figured out that they put tracking and compulsion charms on it. Do you think you could take them off? Without damaging the original heirloom?"

"Have to see it first, kid."

Harry opened his trunk and pulled out the cloak. Eamon let off a low whistle. "That's a beauty, kiddo. Let me take a look."

He muttered in that strange way of his, then wiggled his fingers, waved his wand, and Harry, mage sight activated, watched the foreign spells dissolve.

"Thank you so much!" Harry almost gushed.

"No charge. Whoever did that ought to be slapped. My opinion. Anyway, have a good year, kid!"

"Thanks!" Replacing the cloak in the trunk, Harry walked out of the enchanters and made his way to Script.

After refilling his ink and parchment, he looked around the shelves. He picked up versions (all used, most of the prior edition) of all the texts he needed for school that year, as well as a few more supplemental books (though he had not even come close to finishing the library he'd purchased the year before.) He had quite a full pile when he got to the defense area, which he had saved for last. He figured he needed to concentrate most there.

It wasn't paranoia if they were really trying to kill you.

Scanning, he picked up a few books that looked interesting and two he had seen referenced in his studies. But the books from his requirement list weren't on the shelf.

He took his pile to the front.

"Did you find everything you were looking for today, then?" the clerk asked as he began tallying.

"Actually, no. I couldn't find any versions of the Lockhart books that are required for Hogwarts this year.

"Oh, well… we don't normally stock copies of that. We specialize more in the factual and scholarly texts - in the nonfiction section, anyway." Harry raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

The seller stopped his work and looked up. "If you need, I can have our elf pop over to Fluorish and Botts and get you a set."

Harry thought for a second. "Thanks, but, I've got a bit of extra time, and I'll pass by there on my way out."

Harry made his way back to the main part of the alley, heading for the more "pure" bookseller.

He was immediately glad he had his notice-me-not charm on. It seemed that the author of the "not factual or scholarly" defense texts was doing a book signing that day. He watched the melee with a bit of a smirk, culling details to share with Bub, the birds, and Master Lee later. He watched as a woman who must be the matriarch of the Weasley clan made her way to the front of the altar… err… line for books. Meanwhile, a man who could be no other than Draco's dad fiddled with yet another Weasley's books, sneering his disdain. And, what was that? It seemed that Ron Weasley had come by his temperament honestly: his father socked the Malfoy patriarch a good one.

Interesting.

Harry waited for the crowd to disperse, drinking a milkshake from Fortesque's ice cream parlor and reading a book. The magical world surely was a very strange place.

His second year at the castle had very little in common with the first year. Hogwarts was no longer a refuge for Harry. Of course, when he first came back, he had to contend with the memory of his abduction and battle with Quirrelmort. That was hard enough. But then, not so subtly, his world changed.

It began the second day of school – people still pointed and whispered through the halls and during meals. His notice me not charm was somehow ruined. Harry suspected Dumbledore, but had no idea how to prove it. The charm had been expensive, so though he could order another from the jeweler – Mrs. Edwards, he supposed – he thought the same fate might befall any charm he had. So he choked down his frustration and moved on.

It wasn't easy. People followed him everywhere. When he exercised, when he practiced piano. There was one firstie who was constantly taking Harry's picture, though from the compaints that Harry heard, that charm to blur his features was still working. His meals were miserable. If he sat with Hermione and Neville, the littlest Weasley goggled him throughout the entire meal.

Classes were much the same as the year before and thus became his refuge. He'd never used the charm during class. The exception to this was his defense class. His new DADA professor was the same pouf who'd done the signing in the alley. He was determined to increase his own popularity by using Harry in any way possible and brought Harry into all sorts of demonstrations and activities.

The young Ravenclaw rebelled, and by the second week, went to his head of house to protest the forced attention. To his consternation, Professor Flitwick said there was nothing he could do about how Professor Lockhart handled his class. Master Lee, however, counseled his charge differently. Through Harry's shrewd use of missteps and flailed elbows/knees, Lockhart learned, painfully, to keep his distance from Harry.

It was practically the only good thing Harry had happen in the entire first month of school.

He was able to sneak to the study group by very judicious use of his father's cloak. He was afraid that too much use would give away that advantage. When his friends asked how he managed to get away, he just smiled.

Lots of other folks tried to be his "friend". The only problem was that their motives, even if they were rather good actors, were completely obvious to him. The Mirror of Erised magic had started to manifest in Harry. He could, very easily, see WHY they wanted to befriend him. No motive was hidden. Though he was polite to everyone, Harry didn't really warm to any of these would-be hangers on.

Frustrated by his lack of cooperation, some students attempted to capitalize on the new scarcity of Boy Who Lived merchandise. They try to get into his bag, his pockets, his trunk. Everyone wanted a piece of the Boy Who Lived – most likely to sell it to the highest bidder when they got out of the castle.

Harry was completely miserable.

Besides his study group, he had two outlets. The first was a firstie Ravenclaw. She was an outcast because she was just so… strange. But to Harry, all magicals were strange, and Luna Lovegood was fun. Whenever he chatted with her, others would leave him alone, simply to avoid her. He saw it as a side benefit, as he truly enjoyed her quirky, relaxing company. And he saw that, aside from having a friend, she truly wanted nothing from him.

His other escape was the sky. From the flying lessons the year previous, he'd learned that he loved to fly, and he felt a need for speed. He had thought of flying on Mr. Lee's old broom. Unfortunately, that broom just wouldn't cut it. It was just too… old. He hadn't wanted to invest in brand new until he knew that he was getting the best, and he'd heard rumors of a new, super-fast broom coming out. His last week in the alley, he went looking for a new broom. The owner of the quiddich supplies shop offered to put him in touch with a pro who was upgrading to a personally designed broom, for the cost of a signed photo he could use in the front window. So Harry had a Nimbus 2000 (2001 had just come out) for a really good price. And he needed it. The sky was one place he could simply forget the chaos of school.

Unfortunately, his flying wasn't such a safe haven when he got on the ground. It was apparent to other claws that he had a natural talent. The quiddich captain thought it was understood that Harry would try out for the team. It was understood by everyone, that is, except Harry himself. When he tried to explain that he needed to concentrate on his classes – he only had an E average, after all, his house members were rather angry.

They had Harry Bleeding Potter in their house, and he'd never let them capitalize on it.

It was then that Harry started to see the fine line again between famous and infamous. He was just waiting for the Harry Hunting to begin.

Time trudged to October, with the groupies starting to give up in small amounts. Harry's blank persona hadn't won any friends, but didn't make enemies, either. He was hoping that the fanatics were starting to see that the Boy Who Lived was nothing but a myth and that they would give up.

Hope springs eternal, after all.

Once again, Hogwarts hosted a magnificent feast to celebrate the end of the blood war. Once again, Harry decided to give it a pass. Hermione and Neville decided to do the same, in solidarity with their friend. They were sitting in Ravenclaw tower, with Luna, who had also eschewed the feast, reading quietly, sometimes talking, playing with Bub, when the first students burst in.

Someone had opened the Chamber of Secrets, they gushed. Filch's cat had been killed/paralyzed/rendered comatose, the rumors all contended.

Mostly, it was known that something evil was afoot, yet no students had been harmed. Therefore, it was a big, juicy scandal that, for a short time anyhow, had the crowds yammering about something other than Harry.

Within a day, though, there were those whispers, those stares. Those who had been rebuffed, however kindly, by their hero began to wonder aloud. Harry hadn't been at the feast. Harry had a bad feeling about the whole situation, but thought it best to just keep the course.

The sole quiddich match of the fall season was well attended, and Harry took it as an opportunity to have some truly alone time. This turned out to be a rather bad decision, as it later was revealed that the Heir of Slytherin had come calling again, this time petrifying Gryffindor first year Colin Creevey – the same student who had been incessantly taking pictures of Harry, no matter that none of them ever turned out.

The whispers became louder; the accusations more frequent. It was apparent to a good portion of Hogwarts that Harry had only defeated Voldemort because he was more evil – he must be the Heir of Slytherin.

They were still few in numbers, but these accusers were growing in boldness and volume. They'd attracted a new band-leader: Ron Weasley. Ron had been disappointed from his first meeting with Harry. Harry had turned down Ron's friendship first year and again second year. Ron had offered to run quiddich plays with Harry while Harry flew. Harry politely refused.

Ron didn't take that well.

Harry could see that Ron was much like the others: he was mesmerized by the idea of the boy hero – he wanted the attention that would come with being the sidekick. Harry had no need of a sidekick. This set down, no matter how polite, had bothered Ron.

He decided that Harry must be evil, after all. Hadn't he shaken hands with Malfoy, of all people?

Harry had mixed feelings about the Christmas holiday. He wanted nothing more than to get away from Hogwarts, but he really had nowhere to go. And most of the students would be gone for the holiday. When he heard back from Eamon Edwards, whom he had contacted with the hopes the man could fix his charm, that the Edwards family were going out of the country to see his family for the first Christmas in a decade, it was the deciding factor. Harry decided to stay in the castle.

It ended up being a good decision.

The Christmas hols were extremely cold and snowy, and the tent, no matter how insulated, was only one short step from the elements. Harry wouldn't have wanted to try to find a place to pitch it on such short notice. He ended up being left mostly alone over Christmas, as most of the students had once again left the castle, and he was able to relax for the first time since the Express ride in.

Girding his loins for the return of students, Harry's rather hard-won occlumency shields were put to great use. The whispering and pointing started immediately, though many were quite disappointed that no one had been petrified whilst they were gone. Perhaps Potter wasn't the Heir of Slytherin, after all?

A mandatory dueling club three weeks into term put an end to that possibility. Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley were sharing the podium while Harry stood on the sidelines. Draco cast a serpensortia spell, producing a rather small but seriously dangerous black mamba. Ron paled and, in a fit of panic, cast a depulso charm, banishing the now furious snake into the spectators.

It landed right in front of Harry and an absolutely terrified Justin Finch Flechley.

Harry calmly observed the snake, who was, in parsletongue, screaming about being torn from its nest and its desire to bite every two legs in the room. Harry told it to calm down and he'd return it home. It looked at Harry then turned sharply at the two legs who, at the first sign of snake inattention, attempted to throw a stunner at the creature. The stunner missed and the snake was enraged again. Harry was attempting to calm the snake again, but it had the two-legs in its sights. Justin Finch-Fletchley, terrified of snakes, just knew that Harry was egging it on. Before it could bite, however, Professor Snape stepped in and vanished it.

Though no one was bitten, the damage was done. Harry was outed as a parslemouth

Aside from the few friends he'd made first year – mostly from the study group – and Luna, most people are rude on the verge of violent to him. Especially Ron Weasley. Making fun of Harry was now Ron's favorite pass time.

In fact, most of the school scent blood. They resented the fact they used to think Harry was "special," and now they were certain that he was a dark wizard, so they decided to make him pay.

When Mr. Finch-Flechley was petrified (in the presence of a greatly harmed Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor house ghost), the students went rabid.

Through the second term of school, Harry was followed through halls in different manner. People jinxed, hexed, and even cursed him. He was openly called Heir of Slytherin, and there was no one willing to step forward to protect him. His housemates went from trying to get into his stuff to trying to destroy his stuff. They went so far as to hex Bub. Had it not been for the charm Harry'd given him, he would have been seriously hurt.

That, for Harry, was the final straw. He went to his head of house, but Flitwick stated that his hands were tied. Flitwick did bring it up in a staff meeting, though, and noticed that there were even some on the staff who believed that Harry was the root of the problem.

The headmaster noticed that Harry was getting angry and invited him to a meeting in the headmaster's office. Talking it over with Master Lee, Harry worked out an approach to protect his mind. He'd pretend to be overwhelmed, and he'd avoid looking up, at all.

Upon entering the domain of Albus Dumbledore, Harry didn't have to fake being awed by the place. There were books and knick knacks and doo dads and a phoenix… a real, live phoenix. The headmaster greeted Harry, offered him a seat, and was very surprised when said phoenix (Fawkes was his name, apparently) decided to land on Harry's lap. Harry smiled and pet the bird, scratching where the bird directed him through movement.

"Harry, I want to talk to you about perception. Professor Flitwick has asked that the staff step in, as many of the students are spreading nefarious tales about you – both behind your back and to your face. I have denied this request. You are, whether you choose to be or not, a public figure. People will talk about you. You need to become immune to what people say about you. Whether they idolize you or denigrate you, you can only be true to yourself," Dumbledore went on, not seeing any reaction on the boy who kept petting his phoenix.

He couldn't read Harry's thoughts, as the boy wouldn't look him in the eye. Though Harry was thinking, "so if I tell everyone you brought me up here to bugger me, you'd be okay with that?" he said nothing. His occlumency allowed him to hide his feelings and the phoenix helped him maintain the attitude he wanted to project. Harry simply shrugged.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, old wizard contemplating young wizard.

"If you ever need someone to talk with, Harry," Dumbledore said as a dismissal. The bird popped off Harry's lap as the boy started to move.

"Thanks, sir," Harry replied evenly, taking his leave.

Dumbledore studied the closed door for long moments after his young protégé left. Something was not right, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was. Everything had gone as he'd planned… why was the boy not what he'd expected? Perhaps he should just give it more time.

The days started to get longer, but the torments didn't change. When Hermione and another student, Penelope Clearwater of Ravenclaw, were petrified (holding mirrors in their hands, no less), the students stepped up their torment.

Harry started getting detentions for all of the magic that happened in the halls around him. No matter that he cast none of it, he was still blamed by the professors.

That the year was close to closing out did nothing to stop the torment. Harry was with Ron doing a weekend-long detention for a fight Ron started. Their detention, set by Hagrid, was in the forbidden forest. On the first day they were collecting specimens, they were confronted with huge friends of Hagrid: acromantula. The spiders had said they were afraid of castle, and they were glad boys had come to their nest to feed them. The boys managed to get away, through judicious spells of Harry's, but Harry'd had enough.

He went to confront Hagrid. He was just about to give Hagrid an earful about the monsters in the forest when the minister for magic came. He was there to take away Hagrid to be seen "doing something."

Harry was a bit put out with his giant friend, but he'd read about Azkaban, so he purposefully misunderstood. He cozied up to the minister, gushging that he was so glad that the Minister had come personally to see that the large spider colony in the forest eradicated. He went on and on about the bravery of the minister and the vileness of the acromantula and eventually got the minister to agree. This maneuver kept Hagrid out of Azkaban, but it infuriated Hagrid.

In Hagrid's opinion, Aragog was Hagrid's friend and wasn't vile at all. Or not much, anyhow. Hardly at all.

Ron and Harry's second detention was with Filch. Hagrid wanted nothing more to do with them. They were scrubbing a trophy room when the announcement came over the speakers that all students were to report to the great hall, immediately.

They were on their way when they overheard two of the staff talking.

"They've dismissed the Headmaster because of this? Just because it got one of the students?" the first, Harry was fairly sure it was the voice of the muggle studies professor, asked.

"Yeah, but it got a pureblood this time. The littlest Weasley. First year. Red hair," answered a second, nervous voice. Could have been the Runes teacher, but he wasn't sure.

"All the Weasleys have red hair," teacher one scoffed. "What did the message say?"

"Her skeleton will lie in the chamber forever," was the choked reply.

"They didn't find Myrtle's body in any chamber…" the first teacher began, but the words faded as the teachers walked away.

However the second teacher was lost to the two boys. Ron put his hand on Harry's arm.

Ron now knew, as he'd been with Harry almost all day, that Harry was not the Heir of Slytherin. He'd not done all the things Ron – and everyone else in the school, just about – had accused him of. Ron's little sister was now in the nefarious hands of the true Heir…

And Harry Potter was a hero.

"Harry, please," Ron grabbed Harry's arm and babbled, "My sister. Please. Could you please…"

Harry's eyes narrowed, and he looked down at Ron's hand then back up at Ron.

Then he remembered the little red-headed girl. His new magic said she wanted to be his friend, or rather the girlfriend of the Boy Who Lived. But she'd never approached him.

She'd certainly never hexed him.

And she didn't deserve the kind of help this stupid magical society would offer: namely, too little, too late.

Harry stared at Ron coldly for a long moment. Then he slowly exhaled through his nose, calming himself, and nodded. "I'll find her, but not for you. Your sister is one of the few, like Hermione, who hasn't called me the second coming of the man who murdered my parents. Don't think I forgive you, Weasley. We will never be anything close to friends. Anyone asks, I'll tell what you really are. But I'll help you get your sister."

It was the most Harry had ever said in anger, and Ron knew he deserved it. One second of maturity slipped into his mind. It would be replaced with jealousy again later. But for that one moment, he understood he'd been in the wrong.

"Let me think… Hermione and I figured it must be a great snake. Slytherin's mascot is a snake, and I've been hearing the thing crawling around in the walls. Probably traveling through pipes or something. Most likely, it's a basilisk. Of the different magical snakes (and it'd have to be magical to live at least since the last attacks) that's the only one that has the potential to paralyze."

"I thought the stare of a basilisk killed?" Weasley asked. Harry popped up an eyebrow, impressed. He didn't think Weasley knew about anything except food, chess, and quiddich.

"True, but none of the victims have looked directly at the snake. Creevy looked through his camera, Finch-Fletchley through the Gryffindor ghost, and Hermione and Penelope by mirror. Even that cat saw the snake's reflection in water. Besides, someone's been going around slaughtering Hagrid's roosters." Ron looked blank at that, and Harry sighed. "The crow of a cock will kill it. I've been practicing conjuring roosters since we read that. I've just about got it down."

"But where do we go?"

"Did you catch what those teachers said? Myrtle – Moaning Myrtle – was the victim 50 years ago. That means we need to go to her toilet. The entrance will be somewhere in there. If it's not, maybe we can get her to tell us where it is."

They rushed to the notorious bathroom and searched it frantically, not really knowing what they were looking for.

Suddenly, Ron shouted. "Here!"

He pointed to a small snake inscription under a faucet. Harry spoke to the sink, thinking about speaking to Samesh. He told it to open.

And it did.

A large hole appeared in the room with a chute that flew down into darkness. Ron was so pale his freckles stood out like stars on his face. Taking a deep breath, they prepared to jump.

"Very good, boys!" Harry and Ron hadn't noticed Lockhart coming up to them in the hallway, listening to their conversations, figuring out what they were about to do, and following them. He was very good at stealth charms: it was how he'd got the drop on his magically-superior victims over the years. "But I can't, in all good conscience, let you face a basilisk alone. At all. Especially since simply facing it with a crowing rooster is simply NOT a story that will sell. Don't worry, you will be perfectly safe here after I OBLIVIATE!" he whipped his wand toward Harry, the bigger threat, in a perfect memory-erasing spell.

Harry, though, had been prepared for attack since Lockhart started talking. He produced an over-powered shield which managed to bounce the obliviate right back at the caster.

Lockhart's eyes became dazed; he forgot how to end the spell and managed to wipe many of his own memories. Ron chuckled mirthlessly and cast a stupefy at the now discombobulated professor.

"Reckon he was gonna kill the snake with a rooster, totally spruce up the story, and just wipe our minds of it?" he asked Harry.

"Something like that. Let's go," Harry added, sending a scourgify down the shoot before jumping down himself.

Ron had never been so scared – not even in the presence of those spiders yesterday. He'd watched Harry battle the arachnids and known he was simply outclassed by true danger. He'd sworn he'd go nowhere near anything dangerous again, and that included Harry Potter. But Ginny was down there, and he needed to try to save her. When they passed a shed snake skin and piles of bones, he felt faint. He wanted to cry. But he had to see it through.

They stepped through one last doorway and Ron took it all in. His sister was there, on the floor, with her diary next to her, and also the ghost of some evil-looking boy.

He heard Potter arguing with the ghost boy – some dude named Riddle - and, putting the words together, he realized the truth: it was his sister who opened the chamber. She was possessed, yeah. But it was her, nonetheless. The shame was nearly overwhelming.

When the basilisk came out on Riddle's command, Ron saw its reflection in the pool of water and was paralyzed.

Harry conjured a rooster, but its crow was silent. Riddle laughed The chamber was somehow warded so roosters couldn't crow. Harry ran then, exchanging taunts with the ghost thing. When Riddle bragged about how he was a great wizard, afraid of nothing and no one, Harry responded that Riddle was afraid of two things: death and Dumbledore. And that even if Riddle got out of the chamber, Dumbledore would stop him. That was enough, apparently, to alert Fawkes to a potential problem. The phoenix arrived with the sorting hat in his claws. As Harry reached into the hat and pulled out a sword, Fawkes attacked the snake, pecking out its eyes, rending its stare moot.

Through a tiring fight (thank heavens Harry exercised regularly) Harry eventually stabbed the basilisk – the sword itself got stuck in snake's skull; in exchange a snake fang ended up in Harry's shoulder.

He felt the poison coursing through his veins, but he felt the warmth of the philosopher's stone magic fighting, helping him fight. While he fought, Riddle taunted him, saying his sacrifice was too little, too late.

The venom made its way to Harry's scar, and that accidental horcrux – already under constant attack by Harry's mother's love – was further subdued and eventually killed. Harry's magic triumphantly incorporated the magic and memories therein, though he didn't realize it in his pain. Realization would come later. What he did realize was that the phoenix, Fawkes, took that opportunity to cry on Harry's shoulder wound, and the phoenix's tears, magical panacea that they were, slowly, but surely, turned the tide.

Tom Riddle became silent as Harry opened his eyes. Harry took that diary – that evil, foul piece of work, and prepared to stab it with a basilisk fang (the same one that had pierced Harry's shoulder). But something strange happened as Harry picked up the diary.

His blood – which had his mother's protection and basilisk venom to boot – dripped from his shoulder, down his arm, and onto the book.

It shrieked. The ghost shrieked. The sound was terrible and beautiful.

Harry's blood was now completely toxic to Voldemort.

Harry watched as the last of the ghost disappeared with a sneer of satisfaction. He noticed the little Weasley on the floor begin to stir, and he looked at the phoenix who was still, surprisingly, on his injured shoulder.

"Fawkes, thank you. I can never repay you," Harry scratched the regal bird on the neck, and the bird promptly trilled, bringing peace to Harry.

"And now, I'm going to ask you for another favor. Could you take Ron and Ginny up to the hospital wing? And maybe take me to Professor McGonagall's office?" The bird nodded, flaming out with a Weasley in each claw.

As he waited for the phoenix to return, Harry did a self-survey. Whatever had happened when that great snake bit him, it seemed to do something funny to his head. He seemed to have memories that weren't his… he'd have to talk to Master Lee. Meanwhile, Samesh was hissing all sorts of snakey curse words. It seemed that Harry now had a crazy mix of chemicals in his bloodstream, and the bracelet just didn't know if he'd be able to predict what would poison his master now.

Harry went over all that had happened and what he wanted everyone – i.e. Dumbledore- to know. He pieced together that his blood must have killed the spirit thing that came from the diary, and decided that was probably not good for people to know. Taking the fang that had stabbed him in the shoulder, he followed his original plan and violently stabbed the diary. Ink spurted from the hole: it looked utterly and completely dead.

At that moment, Fawkes flamed back into the chamber. Harry looked at the slain beast one last time before grabbed the phoenix's tail and disappeared from the chamber.

When Fawkes landed Harry in the temporary headmistress's office, his entrance shut up quite a crowd. The professor had been consoling the red-headed couple Harry remembered from the bookstore. Meanwhile, Professor Dumbledore seemed to be back, to the chagrin of Mr. Lucius Malfoy, who was accompanied by a sad-looking house elf. Really, had neither man nothing better to do than throw his weight around at a kid's school?

Adults were weird.

They all looked at him in astonishment, taking in his disheveled, dirty appearance.

"Errmm, just thought you should know, Ma'am. Ron Weasley and I tracked the beast – it was a basalisk – down to its lair." At this point, Mrs. Weasley gasped, but her husband grasped her hand to silence her. "The basilisk had been the monster that killed Moaning Myrtle all those years ago, so it wasn't hard to find where it lived. Ron got petrified, but not before we found Ginny. She'd been possessed by some kid – called himself Tom Riddle. Anyway, the ghost thing was stealing her magic."

"Possessed? My Ginny was possessed?" Mrs. Weasley cried, tears streaming down her face.

"Something like that, ma'am. The ghost was… stealing her life force? I think that's what he said. Anyhow, Ron got petrified – he saw the basilisk's reflection in a pool down there. I fought the snake, with Fawkes' help, and then I stabbed this diary thing with a snake tooth." He held up the diary with the nasty hole in it. "When the diary errr… died? Is that the right word? Anyway, when it was done, the ghost disappeared, and Ginny started to stir. I had Fawkes take her and Ronald to the hospital wing. Oh, and Professor Lockhart tried to obliviate us before we went down to get Ginny, but I shielded, and he seems to be a bit addled. He's in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom… or he was half an hour ago. I thought you should know."

"Ginny and Ron are both in the hospital wing? We need to go, Molly. Now." The two elder Weasleys excused themselves quickly, Professor McGonagall going with them. Harry figured she could take care of the ponce, too.

"Perhaps, young Harry, you could come to my office to discuss in more detail what happened in that secret chamber?" Dumbledore looked at Harry over his glasses, his eyes twinkling. Harry quickly averted his own eyes, having felt the beginning of the legilimancy probe. He never thought Lucius Malfoy would come to his rescue.

"I was under the impression, Dumbledore, that you were not currently headmaster at this school, and even if you were, is it quite appropriate for you to be calling your students by their given names and inviting them to your office, alone?…" While the two men began to posture and pose, Harry slipped out of the office. He placed himself somewhat near the main entrance, in hopes of catching the elder Malfoy before he left. While he waited, he planned.

No more than a few moments later, he heard the quick step, punctuated with the click of a fancy walking stick. Dobby followed a few paces behind, misery outlined in his every motion.

"Mister Malfoy?" Harry called, "May I have a word?"

"Yes, Mr. Potter?" his impatience barely concealed, Malfoy senior eyed the obvious disarray of Harry's clothing.

"I wanted to thank you for having Draco introduce himself to me. His help has been quite valuable in both classwork and in understanding the magical world."

Lucius's eyes brightened at the prospect of having the Potter brat in his debt.

"I also wanted to let you know that I won't be telling anyone how this diary, which was what possessed little Ginny Weasley came to be in her possession. You remember, surely, when you placed it in her cauldron at the book shop?" Harry handed the book, containing a single, grimy sock to the aristocrat.

"You'll never prove it, boy," the man growled at Harry and handed the book to the cowering elf.

"Oh, I think veritaserum-backed pensieve memories would be enough to convince Madame Bones of the DMLE," Harry mused, miming opening the book to the elf.

Lucius pulled his wand from the top of his cane, "Not if you don't remember, OBL…" and was promptly thrown into the wall by a snap from Dobby.

"You shall not harm Harry Potter, bad former master," the elf grimly stated.

"My servant!" Lucius seethed.

"Is no longer yours. You treated him terribly, and he got his freedom. Mr. Riddle also treated his servants like crap, didn't he?" Harry calmly spoke to Malfoy, who was shaking his clothes aright. He stopped and looked at Harry through narrowed eyes.

"You know who Tom Marvolo Riddle was, right? I'd suggest, if you don't know the whole story, you ask Draco to tell you, for I shall tell him what I found out today. The time is coming to choose sides again. I've fought that maniac two years in a row here at school. He'll come back. Think carefully: what did he take from you, what did he give to you?"

Lucius cleared his throat as if to speak, then just shook his head. He turned and left, saying nothing more.

"Dobby?"

"Harry Potter freed Dobby," the luminous eyes looked up from the sock to Harry's face. Harry smiled.

"I know what it's like, Dobby. So, what are you going to do with your freedom?"

Dobby's face fell for a moment, then he tried to smile, covering it up.

"You know, in my readings, it says that house elves need a bond to keep their magic."

"Dobby can work for whiskers. Hoggywarts has magic for elves."

Harry nodded. "Sounds good. But if you ever need anything, you just ask. Anything, Dobby."

"Harry Potter would… be my master? Would give me his magics?" Dobby asked tremulously.

"Harry Potter would, and more, would invite Dobby Elf to be part of the Potter family. What do you think?"

Dobby reached out and grasped Harry's hand. "Dobby Elf accepts bond to Harry Potter and House Potter." A small glow burst around their hands.

"OK, so I need to get cleaned up, and I want to hide out. Not necessarily in that order. Until Ginny and Ron get out of the hospital, I'm going to be persona non grata – even worse than before. Any ideas?

"We could go back to big snakey room. Dobby could clean area. Should jar up snakey parts, anyhow."

"Mmm…" Harry agreed, starting to take a back way to Myrtle's bathroom. "We should get quite a bit of money from harvesting the parts. Are there other elves we could hire, in Diagon Alley, to help?"

"Dobby think so," Dobby agreed, taking in Harry's dirty clothes studying them critically. "Snakey did a number on uniform, Harry Potter Sir."

"Yeah, it's a dead loss. After I've cleaned up, can you destroy it, please? Pack up all my stuff in my room, will you? Careful: I've put some nasty spells on my trunk to keep the others out. We'll bring it all to the chamber." Harry knew some of his things had grown feet this year – since his notice-me-not had failed, people had started "borrowing" his stuff. Nothing he could do before, but since Mr. Edwards had taught him how to put his magic into his things, most of his possessions should be able to be tracked by Dobby. He'd do that later, after he was safe and clean.

In the blink of an eye, Dobby popped Harry directly into the chamber. His trunk followed quickly, and as Harry opened it, casually scanning, he noticed most – if not all – of his things were back. Dobby popped back in with Bub, who had taken to hiding in the castle away from Ravenclaw tower.

"Dobby blocked firey bird from coming down. Whiskers wanted to come here. Master Harry Potter wanted to be alone here, yes? Dobby cleaned a little area for trunk. Does Harry Potter want more cleaning first, or to get snakey taken care of?"

Harry got his trunk open to the fourth compartment and set up his tent. Showing Dobby in, he proved that he didn't need any more comforts outside the tent than he had. He also introduced Dobby to Master Lee, showing that Harry wouldn't be alone, really.

Nodding with agreement, Dobby went to Diagon Alley to get help, popping back almost immediately with two more elves. They agreed to a contract with Harry, then they got to work.

While they stripped the snake to bare bones, Harry cleaned up, fixed himself a late supper, and told Master Lee of all that had happened.

"So, the headmaster is back in the school and trying once more to get into your thoughts. Lucius Malfoy owes you for your silence, and you freed his house elf. But the big news is that Voldemort was none other than an orphan by the name of Tom Riddle, son of a squib and a non-magical. Amazing, for by all accounts, he had power and talent in great quantities. That alone puts the pure-blood argument to shame."

Harry shook his head. "I don't know much about adults, but it seems that when they have beliefs, they don't let the facts get in the way of their opinions."

Master Lee snorted, "That much is true, young Mr. Potter."

Just then, Dobby came back in. "While the other elveses are finishing up the snakey, Dobby elf will get the rest of Harry Potter's things from around Hoggywarts. Yes?"

"Sounds great, Dobby, so long as you don't endanger yourself."

"Most of the rest of the castle is still talking and eating in big hall, Master Harry."

After a while, Dobby started popping into the tent with Harry's missing possessions. In addition to the few books and doo-dads that had disappeared and hadn't been in his dorm-mates' trunks (those, Dobby got on the first pass), true treasure appeared. Dobby procured the last of Harry's family possessions that had been taken from the family vault: The library trunk and a trunk that seemed to have the contents from his parents house shrunk in it. Among those contents was what Master Lee identified as an heirloom box; it was keyed to Harry's magic.

Aside from Harry's purloined possessions and the Potter vault booty, Dobby obtained a wand (that Harry was sure was the one he'd won from Dumbledore when they'd met that night in his first year) that worked really well for him, a scabbard (for that sword he'd stuck the basilisk with. Dobby brought that in, too, as they'd gotten it out of the snake's skull by then), a bunch of silver devices that spun and smoked and, according to Dobby, were linked to Harry's magic, and, curiously, a blank yet heavily used piece of parchment .

Though he was interested in everything, Harry wanted to look in the heirloom box first. After all, these were things that his parents wanted him to have. He pushed his magic in and it responded almost immediately. It cracked open, and Harry took a deep breath before opening it fully. The first thing he saw was a shrunken portrait of his parents. He pulled that out then saw the box also contained several journals, his parents wands, and other personal effects.

"Dobby, where'd you find this stuff?" Harry asked with a choked voice.

"Most was in whisker's quarters. Whiskers went out again to explain to scared parentses about big snake. Spinny things were in whisker's office, and wand was hidden in compartment in whisker's desk. Whiskers had most everything. Except blank parchment."

"Where did you get this parchment?" and why? Harry wondered.

"Weasels had it in their trunk. It be covered with Potter magic, Master Harry Potter Sir," Dobby said with a sniff.

Harry shrugged. "They owe me anyhow. I'll keep this, at least until I figure out what it is."

Of course, a robbery of this size wouldn't be disguised. Then Dumbledore would most likely take it all back again, and this time put it somewhere Harry couldn't get to it. "Dobby, can you always find these things now that you are my elf? Will you always be able to get them?"

"So long as possessions not hidden under wards like gobliny bank, yes."

"Great. Put everything back except this heirloom box and the parchment. I'll keep the sword for now – I don't think the hat will miss it, and the way things go around here, I might need a sword before too long."

Dobby popped out and Harry mounted the portrait in his living room. As he pushed his magic into it, the figures of his parents seemed to wake.

It was a very harsh evening. After all he'd been through that day, it would almost certainly have been better to wait. But young Harry had waited his whole life to talk to his parents. They were amazed at how big he was. They were furious at both his living conditions and his "adventures" at Hogwarts. But they were proud. So very proud.

And they liked Master Lee.

He knew they weren't really his parents, but they were an imprint of his parents' personality, so it meant a lot.

Eventually they got around to the books in the box. Lily explained her charms journal and potions journal were her research and her everyday thoughts. James however had a different story. In school, he'd been one of a group of four: the Marauders. He, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, and Peter Pettigrew had caused mischief and mayhem. The books were all of their prank recipes and directions – and how well each had worked. He confirmed that Harry had the cloak, though he was quite chagrined that Dumbledore had stolen it from the family vault.

"It's really too bad that we lost the map, though," James lamented.

"What map?"

"It was this brilliant piece of charms work," James enthused as Lily rolled her eyes. "Normally, it just looked like blank parchment. But if you tapped it with your wand and stated the password: 'I solemnly swear I'm up to no good' it became…"

"Hang on," Harry interrupted, then picked up the parchment Dobby had found. He followed his father's instructions. The map filled, showing all of Hogwarts and its denizens. "Wicked," Harry breathed.

James and Lily both laughed.

They continued to discuss different things, one story leading to another, when Dobby interrupted them.

"Dobby sorry, Master Harry Potter Sir. But Ting and Flower wanted to be introduced."

"Ting!" "Flower?" James and Lily exclaimed. Two new elves – old elves, actually – were outside the tent. Harry invited them in. They had tears in their big eyes at the portrait of Master James and Mistress Lily.

For Harry, it was as though he had found live family.

"Whiskers kept them at Hoggywarts. Told them they couldn't bother you unless you asked, Master Harry Potter Sir. But Master Harry Potter asked for elvesies help tonight, so Ting and Flower came."

Another piece of treachery from Dumbledore, Harry thought without surprise. After comforting and speaking with the elves, they agreed to stay on as Hogwarts elves so long as he remained at the castle, and would start fixing up the original Potter house for him, so he could eventually could live there. Dobby was excited at all of the work they would have to divvy up amongst themselves. They also informed Harry about 11 years worth of mail being stored in the castle. They had organized the best they could, but Harry needed to answer it all himself.

Overwhelmed, Harry told them he would attend to that when he had more time, and when the headmaster wouldn't notice that he had lost two elves. Then, after cleaning up what mess he'd made, he made his way back to his bed. Dobby had retrieved his quilt, and he put it over himself. For the first time in weeks, he slept soundly, unafraid, not worried, and almost content. Bub, circling on Harry's feet, also slept.

Life was finally good.

The last few days of the year were tolerable. Harry stayed in the chamber until he heard that the students had all been awakened. It was big enough to exercise in, and he had his whole tent to study in. He was busy but keeping an ear to the ground until his name could be cleared.

That day, he waited until those students had gone into the Great Hall and spread the story of what had really happened. The rest of the students started to feel some shame at their treatment of the Boy Who Lived. Harry chose that moment to enter the great hall, and he shrugged off the conflicting emotions of his peers by shaking hands with Justin.

Dumbledore had disappeared from the school again, answering questions about the basilisk incident to the authorities (Amelia Bones was especially pugnacious) and the board of governors (here, Madame Longbottom took up the inquisition). Harry kept his head down, wanting to avoid anyone in authority. Most of them were also ashamed at how they had suspected Harry of unleashing the monster of Slytherin. It had finally come to them who the heir of Slytherin had really been, and that they had accused him of channeling his own parents' murderer.

Shame kept them at arms' length from Harry, and he liked it that way.

No one had even thought to ask if he should see a healer, not that he wanted to put his welfare in one of Dumbledore's lackeys' hands. He was afraid he'd come out obliviated to the ends of the earth. Having narrowly avoided that fate twice in one day, he decided not to test his luck again.

The only people he told the complete story to were his study buddies. Draco and Tracey looked particularly pensive when he told them about the anagram trick and then told them what he knew of Tom Riddle. He didn't tell the whole group what he knew about the diary, but he did pull Draco aside at one point and told him the whole story. Draco was furious - both at Harry for threatening and besting his father and at his father for endangering pureblood children that way.

It was too much for his almost-13-year-old brain to consider.

On the train ride back, Harry wore his invisibility cloak. He told his friends that he wouldn't be found and that they should have great summers, and then he "disappeared".

His first stop after he departed the train was Abnorm Alley. His elves at Hogwarts had already cleaned and refilled his tent and supplies. But he needed help with his necklace. Once again he went to visit Eamon.

"Ah, the returning conqueror. Read in the Prophet how you killed some great beast of the castle this year, yeah?"

Harry sighed and laughed, running his hand through his hair.

"Yeah, that's me. Beast slayer. Anyway, I have yet another problem for you. Something's wrong with my notice-me-not charm. Hasn't worked since beginning of school this year. Can you help?"

"Sure, then. Give 'er here." Harry took the charm off and handed it to the enchanter. He murmered and waved and did what Harry now knew were advanced detection charms, all while wearing mage-sight glasses.

"Well, there's the bugger," he said with some approval, "Someone countered it, alright – there's a nulling charm on here attached with an elf enchantment. All I should have to do is…" he chanted a short spell then jabbed his wand. Harry noticed a small, golden mote fly off the charm. "That should do ya. Here you go."

"Could an elf see that, and remove it for me, if it happens again?" Harry asked.

Eamon frowned, "Yeah, that should be possible. But if not, you give me a floo. I'll meet you up there on a Hogsmeade weekend. That's when they let you kiddos off the grounds, yeah? And I'll fix it right up for ya. Sorry I couldn't do that at Christmas time. Hard year?"

"Miserable. But it's done. Thanks!" He handed a sickle to Eamon, who protested it was too much. But to Harry, this charm was absolutely priceless.

Once again, Script was his next stop. He got plenty of new books to read as he had finished most of the ones he got two years before. He hadn't been as able to use Hogwarts library this year, so he had to use his own library for supplemental reading. As a result, he had a better idea of what he wanted to study. He also got several reams of letter-writing parchment and a good deal of ink. He also got a Potter crest to seal correspondence with. He had fan mail to respond to, and hopefully Master Lee could help him with the duplicating charm. After placing the books, parchment, and ink in the library compartment of his trunk, he decided to head back to London proper.

Having remembered how Astrid had yelled the year before for him not telling her right away about the changes to his system, he made her clinic his next stop. Besides, he hadn't felt completely right since the basilisk bite.

Astrid was partially prepared for him, having also read about his escapade with the snake. She hadn't heard about the phoenix tears, though. The first thing she did was an in-depth diagnostic.

"Well, good news first is that the incident seems to have destroyed that curse in your scar. So I guess all your luck wasn't completely bad. The new chemicals in your system weren't treated completely, but then, Pomphrey is just a medi-witch, not a full healer."

Harry shamefully admitted he didn't go to Madame Pomphrey – he didn't trust her. Astrid looked at him, but finally nodded. She understood.

"Well, between the philosopher's stone, mirror magic, basilisk venom, and phoenix tears, your blood and magic have changed drastically. I'm glad you came – I need to reformulate your potions completely. I'll get them to you tonight, if that's ok."

"Brilliant," Harry agreed.

"Are you ready for the best news?" Harry nodded. "It looks as though you won't need the scar cream or any of the potions after this summer. Overall, you're extremely healthy, though I do see the residue of several nasty curses and hexes on your system."

"Well, I got outed as a parselmouth. Folks weren't quite so laid back about that."

"Students cursed you because you can speak to snakes? Teachers LET students HEX you because you have a talent they don't understand?" She was furious, and Harry knew, once again, it was on his behalf, not at him. "We're flooing Robbie. Right now. This won't stand."

Within half an hour, Harry had settled his bill with Astrid and was perusing one of his new books, waiting for his solicitor. Once again, he gave an affidavit. This time, Robbie had his penseive at hand. It allowed him to look at Harry's memories. As it was a solicitor's penseive, it showed if the memory was altered in any way.

By the end of the show, Astrid wasn't the only enraged adult. Robert Stenwick could not believe what his former teachers had allowed – had tacitly encouraged – at Hogwarts. To this child, of all people. Detentions in the forbidden forest? Detention for AVOIDING a fight? Ridiculous.

"Again, there's not much we can do. Oh, we could crucify them in the press. I tell you what, I'll prepare all of the paperwork for a lawsuit. Medical bills for the year based on what was done to you. We don't have to go forward with it, but the first sign that they're doing the same? Pull out the threat."

Harry nodded. He'd not even thought anything was wrong with the behavior of the staff at school. He supposed he was used to it. That these adults thought something was wrong with that behavior made him stop and think. Yes, he'd take that paperwork. He could see the same happening again, and it was wrong. He didn't deserve to be treated like that.

"So what did you end up doing with that great ruddy beast?"

"Oh, I'm selling most of it through the goblins. I have a new friend – an elf. He helped me take care of it."

"A new friend?" Robbie asked, curious.

"Well, remember how there was that elf telling me not to go to Hogwarts last year? Ends up he was Malfoy's elf. I tricked Malfoy into freeing him. Now, he's my elf."

Robbie sighed. "Mr. Potter, life around you is certainly never boring. I'll hold you to the full story sometime, but I think that Astrid wants you to swig some foul concoction now."

"Hey!" the healer protested, smiling. She handed Harry a potion. He drank it and watched as she did more diagnostic charms, mumbling to herself. "Yes, that should do it. I'll send you the new potions this evening. Do you need a ride back to your home?"

"Nah, I'll take the knight bus, thanks. One last question, though. Would there be any long-term effects of petrification that the mandrake solution wouldn't fix?"

Astrid frowned. "Not to my knowledge, but anyone who was petrified should probably go to St. Mungos for a full do-up, just in case. I have a colleague, Geoffrey Bracknell, who's a specialist in both worlds. He might be a good healer to contact, as I read most of the affected students were muggleborns?"

"Yeah. Can you write that down for me? Maybe like you were writing to the parents? I can contact them, but they might be more willing to go to a doc on your say-so."

He got the letter, caught the bus, and made his way back to Surrey.


	5. Chapter 5

(and there's year 2 done! Summer training montage coming up, as well as my own manner of dealing with the Pettigrew nonsense. Also, in this chapter, we get Dumbledore's POV. It's really not supposed to be bashing, though I suppose it could be construed as such. He's an arrogant SOB, but he's got talent, experience, and knowledge backing up that arrogance. As I've said before, I don't like him. But I don't think he's "evil". )

Harry sent notes, through Royal Mail, to all of the kids who were petrified – enclosing a copy of the note from his healer explaining the situation to the parents – in each. He also contacted the doctor in question to ask if the referrals were ok and to state that he would be handling all of the bills. After all, he had the profit from selling the basilisk. He expected to make enough money from the sales to cover any medical problems.

He also sent a note, via Dobby, to the Weasleys, where he explained that they should also take Ginny to a mind healer. She'd been exposed to a nasty, nasty ghost. Again, the basilisk would pay, so they should just take him up on it.

Harry had plenty to work on that summer, between magical and nonmagical schooling and figuring out how to reply to all of the post he gotten over the years. He'd passed the equivalent of non-magical third year tests at the beginning of the hols, so he was a full year ahead there now. He planned on taking GCSE's Christmas hols of his 4th year, if he could.

As he had the previous summers, he pitched his tent in Surrey, and all was well for the fortnight until the Marge came to visit. She pointedly asked after Harry, and her dog tried to attack Bub. Bub, having been the victim of several attacks in the previous year, was not about to take anything lying down. Ripper, Marge's prized pooch, got ripped up, and Marge was furious. She called animal control to capture Bub and have him put down.

Harry decided that enough was enough. The wards on Privet drive were strong, but no wards were worth what he put up with here. At any rate, he should have wards at Potter Manor grounds by now. He called Dobby and had that elf pop him, Bub, and the trunk to the Potter manse. He erected his tent there, and planned to stay for the rest of the summer – until he had to go get skelefix part 2, anyhow. Using his glasses, he confirmed that, indeed, there were wards up on the property, so he was content in his decision.

As soon as he was settled, he asked the elves to retrieve all the Potter possessions from Hogwarts or anywhere else they may have gone, so long as they would not get hurt in the retrieval. Upon studying the library trunk, he found that several books had been "lent out" by the headmaster. When he found the index, he recalled all books. With an evil smirk, he saw that all books were retrieved.

He studied the contents of his parents' house in Goderick's Hollow. Though he'd no need for most of the things, he did want some special tokens of his parents. He decided on a few things, some of which were useful, some were just nice to have – his mother's mending kit, his dad's snitch and wand holster, family photo albums, and a set of magical figurines (a dog, a wolf, a mouse, and a deer) that all danced and played together and seemed to make him smile for some reason. Once he was done, he had Dobby put both the library and possessions into his family vault at Gringotts. Now that the vaults were locked down, his possessions were safer there than anywhere else.

He took up the wand that he was sure HAD been the headmaster's, and, beneath the wards of both his property and his tent, cast a few spells. The wand's response made his trusted holly-phoenix feather wand feel like a plain stick of wood. But it would not do to become reliant on such a tool. He asked the elves to buy a box that could shield magic. He'd keep the wand in his fourth compartment – close enough so that if third year was anything like the others, he'd have an ace – or rather a super-wand – up his sleeve. He put it in his dad's wand holster, and put it away with the fancy sword (in its scabbard) he'd used to slaughter the Basilisk.

Master Lee decided, after Harry described the colors of the enchantments on the doodads from Dumbledore's office, that those were tracking instruments. They most likely ran on samples of Harry's blood, but they probably tracked things such as Harry's core, the wards on his prison, his health. Harry's eyes narrowed, then he smirked. He called Dobby to him and asked if he could make a tiny elf-charm that would make the instruments appear to work perfectly. Dobby's smile was as evil as Harry's. The blood samples and other links were destroyed, the elf charms applied, and the instruments returned. The doodads would look like they were working, but were neutralized. If Dumbledore realized what Harry had done, well, no harm no foul. But perhaps he wouldn't even notice until it was far too late for him to do anything about it.

Early summer saw Annabelle and Edgar track Harry down. They'd avoided Hogwarts since shortly after Halloween as it was a decidedly hostile environment, and they couldn't do anything to help. They seemed to know if they got hurt, that would hurt Harry. So, they took themselves to Surrey to wait for him to come back. But, as they waited, they finally found the magical signature their Harry had asked them to find.

They finally got to deliver the letter to the Flamels.

The ancient couple took their time accepting, reading, and then replying to the message. The ravens decided to stay and wait for that reply. Nicholas wrote back, asking details of what had happened to the stone, as Dumbledore wouldn't give them. As soon as Harry had sufficiently praised his brilliant birds, he replied to that first letter.

Harry'd noticed more changes in himself as the summer progressed. Spiders didn't like the smell of him – he smelled of basilisk, according to Samesh, his snakey bracelet. His occlumency, which had always been a bit of a struggle, was now terrifically easy, except… he hit a stumbling block – with Master Lee's help, he realized he also had the accumulated knowledge from a piece of Tom that had been in his head.

It was like having books or movies in his head. Unlike the magical potential– the sheer strength and weird talents Riddle had passed on – that Harry could use automatically, the memories were something he'd have to sort and study. And who wants to see the mind of a psycho-killer? Harry didn't.

But he wanted to know what that book was, so he looked for it. And along the way, he found what it was (horcrux) and that there were more. It wasn't the only thing out there that could bring Voldemort back to life.

The thing was, Harry had access to something like 60 years of memories, and many of them were decidedly unpleasant. He could only search a tiny amount without becoming physically ill. And even when he found them (like that one in the cave), he'd no idea what to do with the knowledge. How on earth would he be able to get around those protections?

The one bright piece of information came from studying his own confrontation with the diary. It was completely evident to him that his own blood was now Riddle-bane. He'd need help getting to those horcruxes, but once he did, he'd be able to destroy them.

The problem was, he trusted no one to help him. Astrid and Robbie were great, but they weren't the type of wizard he was looking for. His teachers at Hogwarts were mostly pitiful, and none of them seemed to have any desire to help Harry, anyway. Dumbledore would have the power but was completely out of the question.

Correspondence with the Flamels helped him decide on a plan to get those horcruxes. He confided all of what happened in one of his letters, trusting the ancient wizard who had been so hard to find. Nicholas replied and volunteered his help with destroying the other things, if Harry needed help. He understood, completely, Harry's reticence in asking Dumbledore for help. He, too, had been burned by that particular wizard. They made tentative plans to begin the quest the following summer.

Over the rest of that summer, Harry started training seriously, making his magic, mind, and body very strong and versatile. Mr. Lee pushed him as hard as he could, just to test Harry's limits. Though destroying the soul pieces would be easy, getting to them would not be. So he needed to be in his best condition. The seals on his magic were now gone, having withered over these two long years and his physical body was now almost completely healed from the Dursleys. He was finally on par physically with his peers, though he was a tad bit below average in height, which was expected. Neither his dad nor mum was tall.

His magic, though, was the key. It was already larger than almost many adults' magic. And it was still growing.

Master Lee helped him craft apology and thank you letters to people that had sent him post over the years that would be delivered to the Daily Prophet and other publications on the first of September. After thinking it over, he decided he didn't want to send individual replies, as this would show that Ting and Flower had reconnected with Harry. As Master Lee had surmised in Harry's first year, when Harry'd gotten the cloak from Dumbledore: the ancient wizard had some reason for isolating Harry. Family elves would be a comfort that Dumbledore would refuse the child, just as the portrait of his parents was. Harry was beginning to believe that Dumbledore was a full-on dark lord. Harry didn't want to give away what few small advantages he'd gained – like meeting Flower and Ting. Dumbledore would certainly know by then that Harry'd slipped his leash, but there was no reason to alert him about everything else.

With input from his parents' portraits, he read his parents' journals. Immediately, he saw a big difference between what his texts had to say – his family was betrayed by Sirius Black, who then killed their friend Pettigrew – and the story his parents told (pretty much the opposite for the first half, and they'd no idea on the second). There was, however, not much he could do.

Mr. Lee pointed out that if Black killed Pettigrew for betraying the Potters and as a consequence also killed all of the muggles, of course he would be in prison anyway. He'd do well to keep his silence to the greater public (he told Robbie everything, trusting the man who'd done so much to help him.) Explaining how young Mr. Potter knew anything of the truth of That Night to authorities would bring the existence of the journals and portrait - and Harry's possession of those items – to light. Then, those same journals and portraits might just "disappear" for Harry or the wizarding world's own good.

Harry had no doubt this would be the case – hadn't it already happened once? So, he kept quiet.

Though Harry was enjoying his summer, being surrounded by his elves, the animals, a ghost, and a portrait was still lonely. Dobby brought him a wizarding wireless so he could have some contact with outside magical world. One evening's broadcast revealed the surprising information that he Harry was "missing" - which made him laugh. Hermione had been in France all summer (according to her itinerary), so she wouldn't be worried. The rest of his friends might, though, so he sent them notes via Dobby that he was fine. It amazed him that the pureblood world was convinced Black got him – which made Harry want to defend the man. Even if Black killed Pettigrew – he had reason! Deciding that he needed more information, Harry contacted Robbie again and asked for copies of the transcripts of Black's trial and anything related to it. When he found there had been no trial – nor even a record of questioning – on the magical side, Harry wondered why he was at all surprised.

The muggles, on the other hand, had determined that the blast had come from a 90 degree angle – above – and so the person who had left behind only a thumb was a person of interest. Master Lee then questioned aloud – what kind of spell would leave only a thumb behind?

Could it be that Pettigrew was actually the one who blew up the street?

One morning while he was out doing his exercises, Harry spotted a big black dog sniffing around the construction of Potter house. "Padfoot?" he called. The dog looked up and morphed into a very dirty, disheveled Sirius Black.

"James?" He asked.

"No, Harry," Harry smiled in answer. "Want to come in?" Harry indicated his tent, which Sirius could then see.

Asking Dobby to pick up some clothes for Sirius, Harry prepared a light meal (he didn't think the skeletal man could hold much more) while Sirius first cried at the sight of the Potter portrait, then took himself to the bath to get clean for the first time in a decade.

As Sirius spooned up the warm soup, feeling himself calm, Harry studied him. "Why did you escape, Sirius? Why now?"

Sirius put down his spoon and his face hardened. "He's at Hogwarts. I have to get him. I have to protect you."

Harry's eyes narrowed. His father (or rather, his father's image) demanded, "Who's at Hogwarts, Paddy?"

"The rat," Sirius growled. Bub jumped into his lap and kneaded his claws. He tried to calm the dog man. The dog man had shown intelligence – he knew the rat was bad, too. All of the travelling Bub had done through the castle, he hadn't been able to find that rat again. The dog man would help.

"Peter? He's at Hogwarts?"

Sirius took a deep breath then with his gruff, rarely used voice, told a story. He'd come upon the Potter's residence, wanting to warn them that he couldn't find Peter. The house was a mess and Hagrid had Harry. He wouldn't let Sirius take Harry. So Sirius decided to either capture or kill Peter. He tracked Peter down, but the rat turned it around. Claimed innocence, then threw a curse that killed the muggles while planting only his own finger at the site of the explosion.

Sirius was well and truly screwed, and he knew it.

But now, he knew where the rat was. And he was going to, by God, have his revenge.

"No, you're not," Harry stated, quietly but firmly. "You won't be going to Hogwarts. I'm going to take care of the rat so that I can live with you, eventually. Mom and Dad say you're my godfather. You're supposed to take care of me, right? But you have to get well first. You're going to my healer with me. She'll set you right before summer hols, guaranteed."

Padfoot's eyes narrowed. "Why do you have a healer?"

"Long story," Harry smirked.

"Does it go with the story of why you live next to your grandparents burnt-out house, in a tent, with a kneazle, some elves, a ghost, and two ravens?"

"Hey, don't forget the portrait of his parents!" Lily put in.

Harry nodded his head. "Yeah. But you have to get better first, okay? Whatever the story, it's in the past."

Harry contacted Astrid, asking if she was willing to heal his godfather. At first Astrid was reluctant to heal Black. But when Harry told her the whole, true story, she agreed to treat the animagus.

Harry also explained where Pettigrew was and how he was going to take care of the traitor. Robbie agreed with the plan and stated he would put in more research time, to see if he could come up with anything on the folks that seemed to put this charade through the government.

He settled for the end of the summer with Astrid. She gifted him with a new set of books on Parselmagic. When he looked at her questioningly, she smiled.

"It's only recently that parselmouthes have been considered evil. These are books on how to use parseltongue for healing. They're rumored to have been written by Pericelsus – the original parselmouth, and the wizard who's responsible for much of the healing magic we have today. Snake magic has always been the basis of healing. The reason, by the way, that the medical symbols in the muggle world have snakes on them is because of Asclepius, a Greek wizard who was also a healer who used the snake tongue.

So Harry settled back to view the books while he let the potions and spells work on him.

While he was getting bone fix 2 – this time most of his upper body was being tended to, Dobby refreshed his supplies for the next year. Used books, potions ingredients, and just the one uniform and school shoes needed purchasing. The destruction of one uniform per year was a tradition Harry was looking forward to breaking. Harry's initial clothes purchase still worked for him – though he was at the top of the growth charms. He'd gained almost 7 sizes in 2 years, which he thought was brilliant. The scar on forehead was no longer enflamed, but was more like any other magical scar, like the ones on his hands from last year. His new snake bite would never go away, but again, that was expected from a magical scar.

The rest of the scars were now gone, and the magical scars are barely visible. No more Dursleys on his skin. No more Dursleys in his bones… Well, almost. He wouldn't need potions anymore, although there were a few bones – namely some in his skull – that still needed replacement. When he got his yearly haircut and refreshed his grooming supplies, he got a good look in the mirror. He looked and felt like a new kid. Donning his now unnecessary glasses, he moved out of the alley ready to face Hogwarts again.

He had a plan to get the rat, or at least, how to deal with the rat once he had the rat. If all else failed, he had a life debt from Ronald Weasley. Should be a cinch to trade that for a rat. Once it was done, Sirius would be free, Harry could go with Sirius, and he could kick the Dursleys and that Figg woman to the curb.

The thought of some well-placed revenge made him grin.

On the train back to Hogwarts, he once again sat with Neville and Hermione. Luna Lovegood – his fellow outcast from Ravenclaw – joined them. Harry asked her if she'd visited Eamon Edwards Enchanter, as he suggested.

"Yes, Eamon has particularly good enchantments against nargles. I hope that I can keep my shoes this year!" Luna smiled, reading her upside-down newspaper.

Neville and Hermione both look confused, but Harry just smiled. Luna then turned to Neville and complimented him on the plant he was holding. They had a conversation about magibiology which put Neville much at ease.

Breaking through Harry's musings, Hermione wanted to know where he was at the end of summer.

"I was safe, and it's a secret," he answered with a small smile, remembering his idyllic, if lonely, summer retreat.

"I'm your friend, you should tell me," Hermione stated, bristling at what she saw as lack of trust.

"No, Hermione. I was safe, and the fact that no one could find me proves that. Secrets are only good if no one knows them."

She was stubborn, and she had one more point to make.

"Don't you think at least Dumbledore should know? He is Dumbledore, after all."

"Why does the headmaster of our school have any right to know anything of my life outside of school?" Harry asked, genuinely wanting an answer to this question.

"Harry, he's just concerned," Hermione answered with a sigh in her voice. She still, after all of the times she'd been let down, trusted authority figures.

"Really?" Harry asked, challenging her. "Did he ask if you had after-effects from the basilisk? As the headmaster of the school in which you were, again, almost killed, I believe he should have had quite a bit of concern over your health." Hermione chewed her lip as Harry continued, "Yet, I know he didn't ask Justin, Colin, or Penelope. Until I told them to see a non-school healer, they didn't know they could have life-long after effects. Or at least, that's what they told the healer. They'd all been referred by me. By the way, you did go to a healer in France, right?"

"I did. And you're right. The headmaster didn't ask about my health," she whispered.

Harry was completely calm. His occlumency gave him an edge there. He just wanted Hermione to think, really think, and question authority.

"Ask yourself then why he has the right to know about my personal business. Because I have no parents, I have no right to privacy? Because the magical world gave me some ridiculous name, they own me? No, they don't. I might confide in you, Hermione, because you're my friend. But the headmaster is not anything to me, personally, aside from the leader of my school, the head of the wizengamot – which, since I'm not on trial, means nothing – and the supreme mugwump (whatever THAT means) of the ICW, which is even less relevant."

He decided then to give her something else to think about, since her brows were drawn and she was truly thinking about what he said. "I will tell you this, though. The headmaster for some reason is the one who put me in the house where I was held until I got to Hogwarts."

Her eyes flashed. She, the child of two very aware dentists, knew the signs of abuse. She knew Harry's house wasn't a good one. Wasn't a home.

"He put you there?"

"Yep. And he had no right to do so. Went against my parents' wills."

She said nothing else, but Harry contented himself that she was, at least, thinking. Luna broke in, then, announcing the wrackspurts were clearing from Hermione's head, and the conversation turns to creatures they would see in CoMC this year – if they were taking it.

Harry talked to all of the people who stopped by. Malfoy and Davis stopped by to see when the study group would meet up - Bones and Macmillan also stopped by and talk about if they should invite new members for the new courses they would be taking.

The big surprise was Justin Finch Fletchley. Justin had accused Harry of being evil the year before, simply because Harry saved Justin from a snake using parseltongue. When Justin had been a victim of the basilisk, it seemed to cement Harry's problems for the year. But the two had shaken hands – a pax – after Justin had been de-petrified and revealed that Harry had not been the culprit, a small redheaded girl had been.

It seems that Justin's parents – extremely well off bankers - were especially happy to have access to a healer who was also such a well-respected doctor on their side. Justin sat in the compartment and they talked about things.

Justin had been trying to keep up with the non-magical side of his education so that he could go back to that if things don't pan out on the magical side. Hermione nodded - she'd been doing the same. Summers were crammed with make-up work and exams. They smiled in commiseration while Neville just looked confused by the idea of voluntarily doing more school work.

The loss of months of his life, simply because of his parentage, had woken something in Justin. It wasn't a good thing. Hermione floundered in what to say to comfort the boy. So Harry drew out a card and wrote information on it.

"Next time you're in Diagon, go to Gringotts. Find Hooknose. Give him this card. It's an entrée between your family and Gringotts. Tell him you're interested in mutual profit and give your father's card, showing his credentials. I'll bet there are few wizard born who are logical enough to understand mutual profit. With your background, you're a shoo-in. You might even get an internship there."

Justin's eyes lit. "That's a great idea, thanks!"

Penny Clearwater stopped by to say hi and thanks, also. She also had a great experience over the summer, especially since she wanted to be a healer. She had no idea she could do medicine on both sides. Harry smiled and nodded, not understanding quite a bit of what she raved about, but happy for her, nonetheless. Hermione, on the other hand, knew just what had Penelope so interested, because she, too, found healing "fascinating".

Colin Creevey stopped by and, surprisingly didn't have his camera. He apologized to Harry for badgering the older student the previous year and thanked him for the medical tips. Harry smiled and said that Colin should think about taking more general pictures, maybe making a yearbook. It would pay for itself and maybe open a future career for Colin. The boy smiled when Luna said she'd be willing to help as her father had a printing press. They chatted for a while before the younger boy moved off to sit with his friends.

Harry let out his sigh of relief. He still didn't much like the little stalker, but he could have a little empathy for the kid. A very little.

The last people to stop by were the Weasleys – Ginny and Ron. They wanted to say thanks, and Ron, in particular wanted to apologize. Crookshanks and Bub, both in carriers, fought to get out and get to the piebald rat in Ron's pocket.

This made Ron upset, and since he already felt guilty, he almost let his anger get the best of him. But then, the train started to slow.

"We can't be there yet – there's still at least half an hour left in the trip," Hermione gnawed at her lower lip.

The train got suddenly cold. The windows frosted. And Harry felt an oppressive weight come down on his mind just as a skeletal hand began to open the compartment door.

Dementors, who were searching the train, saw a nice, sweet treat in Harry and in the rat. They had just begun to feast when a bright animal came in and chased them away. Harry, momentarily shaken by the experience, decided he did NOT like hearing the dying voices of his parents. He much preferred the portrait version.

The teens in the compartment were recovering when a teacher - later introduced as Lupin, the new defense professor - came in to check them and give them chocolate. Harry had wondered if it was Remus, and if he had been brought to Hogwarts to try to stop Sirius from "killing" Harry. As the gaunt man left the compartment, Ron commented, "At least we don't have a complete tosser as a defense prof this year!"

Neville grinned, almost amazed to have found commonality with the red-headed bully, "Yeah, that's a nice change, eh?"

Harry sat through the feast, notice-me-not in place. He watched the firsties get sorted and he watched covertly as the headmaster studied him.

He wondered how long it would be until the summons.

As a third year, the Ravenclaws all had doubles or singles. As a nod to the suffering that Harry had endured the year before, he was given the single. It was a tiny room, but it was enough for him. As an additional precaution, he locked his door with a parseltongue password.

None of the others dared say a word.

They knew they'd overstepped the mark when one of the girls tried to pet Bub and the hissed at the girl. Several had tried to hex the cat in the tower, and Bub, already angered at these spoiled brats' treatment of his friend, was not going to forgive and forget.

Neither was Harry.

The following morning, Flitwick was ready for his early riser. Harry ran his laps of Black Lake, cleaned up, and still managed to break his fast before most of his fellow students. When he got his schedule, however, he scanned it with a frown.

This was not what he had requested, nor what he would endure. Approaching the faculty table, Harry walked to his head of house.

"Good morning, Professor. I have a question about my schedule," Harry started politely.

Flitwick smiled, "Yes, Mr. Potter?"

"If you'll look, you'll see that I do not have the electives I requested," Harry handed the diminutive professor both the schedule and a copy of his course selections.

Flitwick frowned at the papers, nodding. "I see. I don't do the scheduling, however; you'll need to go to Professor McGonagall."

"Could you accompany me, sir?"

Sighing, Flitwick wiped his mouth, then took the schedule and course request form down the table to the stern Deputy Headmistress. The last time she'd seen Potter, he'd just saved both the youngest Weasleys and, potentially, the whole school.

Yet she looked at him as though he were nothing more than a nuisance, disturbing her meal, and certainly not worthy of her time.

Flitwick, noting this, did the talking.

"Ah, Professor McGonagall, it seems that young Mr. Potter does not have the correct course load." He indicates the original course sheet Harry filled out, as contrasted to the class list he'd been given. "He should take runes, arithmancy, and care, as he originally signed up for."

Sighing, McGonagall handed the papers back to Flitwick. "The headmaster has chosen the new schedule."

Flitwick's brow furrowed. "The headmaster is neither Harry's parent nor his guardian. As Potter funds are paying his tuition, the headmaster cannot overrule his choices. To do so violates any contract, and Harry would be free to leave Hogwarts."

"Mr. Potter's guardians are muggles. The Headmaster had all final say in his magical education," she rejoined.

Flitwick now was not only confused, he was beginning to get angry. "The headmaster can only overrule if the course levels do not fit the student, Minerva. Mr. Potter's grades deserve no such censure as taking away courses he asked for and replacing them with divination, of all things." Both Flitwick and McGonagall had disdain for divination.

"Filius, the headmaster has final say," she began to argue.

Harry cleared his throat. Then he showed them both another paper.

"I have here a writ from my solicitor stating I will be suing Hogwarts for a year's-worth of medical treatment and a return of boarding funds due to neglect and bullying the teachers allowed. He has my veritaserum-backed, verified pensieve memories. One in particular irked him, as he was a Gryffindor when he was here. It was you, ma'am, watching as one of your lions cursed me, I ducked, and the curse hit someone else. You punished both of us. Him for throwing the curse and me for…? Not accepting it, I suppose?" There was no emotion in his voice, but McGonagall felt shame in the implied censure. "There is also the matter of an illegal house elf enchantment on one of my possessions – what are the odds it was placed by a Hogwarts elf? Shall we start questioning them? My solicitor will begin the process on my word, which I will give if you don't acquiesce. Even if he loses the case, Hogwarts loses in the press. You were in the wrong last year. You are in the wrong now. And more importantly?" He leaned in and allowed some of his absolute disdain for her to show. "You. Owe. Me."

She looked at him, seeing Lily's eyes pouring out distrust and distaste and James's features radiating stubborn aloofness. Though she was Dumbledore's witch, through and through, she knew that she didn't have a choice. Extending her wand to the paper, she corrected his schedule. He nodded his head in acknowledgement, aloofness never wavering, and turned back to the Ravenclaw table. None of the students noticed him.

Flitwick shook his head and went to his own plate to finish his breakfast.

Hermione entered the great hall a bit later and, after getting her schedule from McGonagall, moved, surprisingly, to the Ravenclaw table. Usually, she came with Neville only when both Harry and Luna were in residence.

Her reason was immediately apparent.

"Harry, I thought it through. You were right. I'm so sorry that I didn't listen."

He smiled and nodded and she sighed. She was forgiven. Then she continued, in a whisper, after making sure no one was eavesdropping.

"I think it might be worse than you know. These last two years, those events should have been prevented by the headmaster. He's the master of the wards. He should have known that basilisk was slithering about. He should have known that diary – whatever it was (horcrux, Harry's mind whispered) - was evil and in the castle. He should never have brought the philosopher's stone into the castle, or the mirror you told me about, and most of all, he should have known that both Quirrel and Ginny were possessed. With so many ghosts about, anti-possession wards are phenomenally strong here. He would have been warned. He would have known. And… you're not surprised by this."

"I've had longer than you to think about it. Nothing in my life adds up, and he's in the center of it all. But as he is the Great and Mighty Oz, there's not a great deal I can do… my slippers aren't ruby, you see," he smirked and she just looked at him. "So, are you excited for Runes?"

The abrupt change in topic made her eyes narrow, but she realized, finally, that perhaps the Great Hall was not the best place to have this conversation, so she allowed herself to be distracted.

The anticipated summons never came. Harry was certain that, between his mysterious disappearance and reappearance and the scheduling kerfuffle, Dumbledore would be chomping at the bit for an interview. Come to think of it, he'd never even debriefed Harry after the basilisk episode. But a well-timed article in the Daily Prophet, questioning Dumbledore's obvious and dubious interest in Harry (who suspected former Hogwarts governor Lucius Malfoy was behind the publication) kept Dumbledore at bay.

A week into school, Harry went with Hermione to get Neville from Gryffindor Tower. They were going to meet up with the others for their first study group, and she needed to get a book. When they came in the room, Ron started haranguing Hermione that her demon of a cat had attacked Scabbers again. He held up the animal who looked worse for the wear.

Harry smiled calmly. Here was his chance.

"Ronald, I seem to remember from first year that you don't even particularly LIKE your rat?" He said it as a gentle question.

Ron turned red around the ears. "That's beside the point, innit? It's my rat."

"Wait, wait. I have a proposal," Harry held up his hands. "You aren't overly fond of your rat, but Hermione adores her cat, who hates Scabbers. In the interest of you not being on Hermione's back anymore, I'll pay you for the rat. I will give you an oath that I will not directly harm Scabbers. I won't allow Bub to harm Scabbers. In fact, if you can get your brothers to help, I'm sure we can make a nice, cat proof, very strong cage in which to keep the little guy. I will keep Scabbers in there, safe, fed. In exchange for Scabbers I will give you three galleons. You MUST use this to get a pet and anything you need to care for that pet. Any left over money, you must set aside for next year's school supplies."

"Why would I do that?" Ron demanded.

"Because that's what your mum would make you do. That clause should make your mum happy. I've heard her yell at your brothers; I don't want her mad at me!"

Ginny grinned, "Yeah, you want to keep being the 'boy who lived'."

All the Gryffindors laughed then, even Ron. The deal was struck. "Say, how old is Scabbers? Didn't you say he was Percy's rat first? He might even be a magical rat!"

As they prepared the cage, the Weasley boys told Scabbers' background, giving the basis for Harry's alibi story. Fred, George, and Percy put as many unbreakable, chew proof, claw proof, and any other charms the could think of on an old cage that one of the elves provided. The elf, being a Potter elf, knew exactly what was going on and provided elfin magic to reinforce the box, making it so Peter couldn't escape.

All in all, it was a fantastic cage for the traitor.

Now, Harry had Pettigrew. He just had to wait for a day when Dumbledore was out of the school to finish the setup. He didn't trust Dumbledore to do the right thing. Setting up the story, he put in time in the library, not so obviously scouring the magical zoology section. Then, he sent a letter to a ministry representative, asking if there were any rats on the animagus registry. He knew the answer, of course, but now he'd have an alibi. He didn't want to rush things; Sirius was safe and being healed. The dementors were inconvenient, but all it meant was that he would not be able to go to Hogsmeade. He would have liked the change of pace, but he had plenty to keep him occupied.

There were some obvious clouds on the horizon, however.

In his first care class with Hagrid, it was obvious the giant was furious at Harry. Like any Gryffindor, Hagrid had a habit of wearing his heart on his sleeve, so everyone in the class knew Hagrid was not happy.

"Anyone but Potter here want to try their skill with Buckbeak?" There were no takers, but Hagrid didn't let that stop him. Eventually, it was Potter's turn, and Hagrid's obvious ire almost resulted in Buckbeak attacking Harry.

After class, Harry confronted Hagrid.

"What is wrong with you?" Harry whispered furiously. This is the man whom he'd saved from Azkaban not once, but twice, with the dragon and basilisk incidents.

"Me? I'm not the one who got a whole colony of harmless spiders killed."

"Harmless? They're class 5 dangerous creatures. They're WIZARD KILLERS, Hagrid, and you let them nest next to a school full of CHILDREN. They attacked Weasley and me when we were doing detention."

"They were my friends. You are not."

Harry lost his patience.

"Well, that much is for certain. After all, I kept you from Azkaban with that maneuver, both by stopping them from falsely arresting you, and by refraining from telling them you put the spiders there in the first place. Too bad you couldn't afford a baby Harry Potter the same courtesy, eh? Dumped me on the doorstep to hell without so much as a fare thee well. You attempt to curse my relatives, which I'm really lucky didn't end up with me in a grave, and I don't tell a soul."

Even through his occlumency shields, Harry was seriously angry. "This is how you treat me? I'll tell you what: Next time they come for you, because they will, I'll hold their hats. And if you EVER put me in danger in one of your classes again? I'll go to the DMLE myself."

He strode away, not bothering to look back. Hagrid regretted for a moment that Harry felt that way, but Harry had been responsible for getting Aragog and his family slaughtered. Hagrid couldn't excuse that.

While he was waiting for a time when Dumbledore was out of the castle, Harry had other projects. Though he was friendly with people and still had his study group, he used the notice me not charm constantly unless he was in class. He had lived most of his life, to this point, alone, and the only time he wasn't alone was the previous school year, where every witch and wizard in the castle seemed to have taken up Harry Hunting. Isolation seemed the best approach, in all. It gave him time to keep up with all of his studies, exercises, and music. Though it was a tight schedule, he kept it up.

He approached Remus Lupin in the first week of classes, requesting aid with the Patronus charm. Lupin almost put him off, then decided to give it a go. They practiced once a week with the boggart, and it wasn't long before Harry was producing mist, and finally, a corporeal patronus.

Remus was both proud and amazed that his friends' son was so darn good at magic.

One night, Harry went to the room Voldemort hid the tiara in. Bleeding on it made it cry, but his glasses revealed there were still some rather ugly curses on it. He put the tiara in the magic nulling box where the super wand was in the 4th compartment of his trunk.

Meanwhile, he'd taken to riding his broom on obstacle course as one of his exercises. It was the one exercise that was completely entrancing to Harry. He adored the speed and freedom of flying. He'd ordered himself the latest broom – a top of the line firebolt – but for the time being, would optimize his performance on the second-hand nimbus he had bought and used the previous year.

He designed the crazy obstacle course, and with Master Lee's help, he enchanted it. Lots of students liked it. It wasn't as popular as quiddich, but a lot of students congregated at the ever-changing obstacle course during free periods.

There had been no sightings of Black near the castle, but the dementors had stayed anyway. One day in November, well before Christmas break, two dementors swooped down to feast on Harry during a race. Lupin was watching and was inordinately pleased when Harry used and expert Expecto Patronum to get rid of the dementors, but Harry's broom got wrecked, anyway.

Within a week, the Firebolt was delivered. Sometimes, being a "hero" had perks, and his early receipt of the broom was almost certainly one of those perks. He rode it just once, but that was enough to get the student body gossiping about Potter and the Firebolt.

Worriedly, Hermione approached him the next afternoon.

"Harry, where did you get the new broom?" she asked, hesitantly, as he cut into his lunch.

Harry smiled slightly, "I ordered it this summer. Didn't expect to see it for months, as there's a waiting list, but, well, I guess they read about the accident in the Prophet and put me to the top of the list. We'll probably read about that in the Prophet, too." Shrugging as if to pass it off, Harry took a small bite of food.

"Are you sure it's safe? Are you sure someone didn't jinx it on you? Owls can carry cursed post, and Sirius Black is after you, after all…"

Wiping his mouth with a napkin, Harry sighed. "It couldn't have been jinxed, Hermione. Let me ask you this – how many owls do I get?" She was quiet and contemplative… and she realized it was none. When he saw she understood his point, he confirmed it. "I get none because someone's confiscating my owl post. Illegally. However, I've worked a deal to get certain mail – and it's all checked for safety before it comes to me. I ordered the broom through that. It's safe as houses."

The headmaster, however, heard of the Firebolt and wondered just exactly how the young Potter had gotten it. It was the perfect excuse to forbid the child whatever method he was using of getting around Dumbledore.

He'd have to learn to rely on the headmaster, then.

Dumbledore summoned Harry to his office, but when Harry arrived, his head of house was not there.

"Where is Professor Fllitwick?" Harry asked. Dumbledore smiled, indicated they were waiting for the charms teacher, and asked Harry to take a seat.

When Flitwick arrived, the conversation began.

Dumbledore sat back on his throne – that was truly what it resembled to a jaded Harry – and studied the young Ravenclaw over his spectales. Harry, as usual, avoided all eye contact.

It wouldn't do to rely on occlumency, not when he had so many secrets.

"It has come to my attention that you got a new broom, Mr. Potter. How did you get this, when you are not permitted to leave the castle?"

"I ordered this broom months ago, sir, when I saw it advertised. It was delivered as soon as it was available. Fortuitously, it was soon after my previous broom met with an unfortunate accident."

Silence reigned for a long moment, Flitwick trying to discern the motive of the Headmaster and Harry simply biding his time.

"How was it delivered?" The headmaster finally asked.

"Through post, sir," Harry answered, truthfully, if not completely.

"That is impossible, Mr. Potter. You do not receive owls." Dumbledore seemed excited to have caught the child in a lie. But Flitwick, once the headmaster's statement registered, was quite irate.

"I never said it was owls sir," Harry answered calmly, as Flitwick also joined in, demanding, "What do you mean Mr. Potter does not receive owls?"

Choosing to answer his head, Harry turned to Flitwick, "Oh, sir, I figured that out before I even came to Hogwarts. When Mr. Hagrid took me to the alley that first time, we got mobbed. This Boy Who Lived thing is pretty big. But I'd never gotten fan mail, so I figured someone was stopping unsolicited post from making its way to me. That's why I sent those letters to the Prophet, Quibbler, Teen Witch Weekly, and the rest at the end of the summer. Since I've seen some of the nasty things that can come by post, I'm rather glad I don't get mail. Anyhow," he continued, turning back to Dumbledore, "I found an alternative method to get post. It's a post box. Through my solicitor. It's all completely legal and permitted by the Hogwarts charter."

A post box? A solicitor? The headmaster thought furiously. He'd have to rely on his authority.

"Nonetheless, Mr. Potter, I think I will need to confiscate that, and search your things for any other potentially dangerous artifacts."

Harry inclined his head. "A search is fine. I'll have my solicitor and some aurors here and you can all search away. But the box will stay in my possession." His voice was respectful but firm.

Dumbledore smiled in that condescending manner of his. "I am certain that between Professor Flitwick and myself, we can protect your interests."

"As you did last year?" Harry quickly rejoined. It was the first dig, and Harry stopped himself. Holding up a hand, he shook his head. "I apologize, that was disrespectful. But the point stands. If you wish to search or confiscate my things, Headmaster, by regulation, I am allowed to have both DMLE and a representative of my choosing present. I choose my solicitor. So, shall we continue?"

Dumbledore finally caught his student's eyes, trying once again to use legilimancy and failing once again, miserably. He had lost the boy, that much was certain, but it seemed that more was going on than a simple reclamation of a family library and a deathly hallow. The boy was too skilled, too knowledgeable, and without the elder wand, the bindings and memory charms Dumbledore wanted to reinforce or cast simply wouldn't hold. It was time to regroup. Perhaps he should remove the boy from his muggle relations… though the wards there were stronger now than they ever had been.

Shaking his head, Dumbledore knew he'd lost this round. The elder wand was most likely in the Potter Vault, along with the Potter library trunk. He'd been alerted to the disappearance of the books he'd lent out that summer. He then checked where he'd hidden the elder wand – which had been unresponsive since the lad had won it – and discovered it, too, was gone. As was the box of housewares from Godrics Hollow. Not sure if there weren't an automatic recall at Gringotts, Dumbledore had gone to the bank to reacquire the objects. He was told there in no uncertain terms that the locks had been changed and he had no access to the Potter vaults.

Yet more evidence that the boy was not under his control.

"Never mind," he said, with a tired voice. "Get the registration for the box to Professor Flitwick. Dismissed."

Harry held back his smirk of victory until he was well away from the headmaster's office. His parents, Master Lee, Bub, and the birds (who now lived with him in his single) would be very, very interested in that conversation. Perhaps, just perhaps, the wheel was turning in Harry's favor, for once.

Harry had kept the rat in his possession for weeks, feeding it, tending to it, and trying like hell not to kill it. Finally, one early winter afternoon Dumbledore left the castle – apparently to petition, once again, to have the dementors removed. The week after they swooped down on Harry, they had attacked the Gryffindor-Slytherin quiddich match, and Harry was never so glad that he'd decided to avoid the sport after his first (and last) almost-deadly foray into the stands.

He asked Susan if she could get her aunt to come to the castle. Also, unbeknownst to anyone, he invited a certain reporter to go live over WWN, promising a big surprise that gentleman wouldn't want to miss. The rumor Susan had heard (as had the reporter in question) was that someone had heard Potter was suing Hogwarts – that student had seen the writ Harry presented to McGonagall and Flitwick. When the reporter asked if this was true, Harry said he'd reveal the whole truth to the DMLE and the reporter could report it to the world at the same time.

The truth would not be hidden this time.

Little did Susan, Amelia Bones, and Geoffrey Gaines (the WWN reporter) know, the truth was not at all what they were prepared for.

The rat was sleeping in the box when Madame Bones arrived in the room the study group used. Harry was there with the other study group members and the invisibility-clad reporter.

"Mr. Potter, though it is good to meet you and I feel as though someone should apologize to you for your treatment by our world, I'm wondering, what exactly do you want from me?" Madame Bones was very straightforward.

"Well, Ma'am, I was researching – rats don't live for 12 years. Though the Weasleys told me this one did. Also, both my and Hermione's pets – who are part kneazle – HATE this rat. I came across the idea that he might actually be a person. So I did the animagus test after looking it up. He is a wizard. I checked the registry, and there is no rat animagus on record."

Amelia had her wand out at this point, and it was trained on the rat. Harry continued.

"So, there were only a few reasons I could think of why a person would be a rat for 12 years. He could have been forced to be a rat by someone, in which case you'll want to find out who did this to him. Or he was illegally trying to be an animagus and got stuck. I guess 12 years as a rat is enough punishment, but that's not for me to judge. The others, well, what happened 12 years ago? He could be a death eater, hiding out. The last thing I could think of was… well… why would a man want to sleep in a young boy's room? Why would a man who could do healing and memory charms want to sleep in the young boys' dorm? We have pedos in the real world, do you have them here?" He looked at her with a question in his eye, and he saw the dawning sickening in hers. "Anyway, whatever the reason I thought DMLE should be here. And Susan's my friend and she always speaks well of you."

By the time Harry had finished the third explanation, she had her patronus calling two of her aurors, asking them to bring veritaserum and inhibition cuffs.

When the three adults forced the rat back into human form, the first thing Harry did was summon all of its clothes.

After stunning the now naked man, Bones looked at Harry with a question in her eye. He shrugged.

"I thought maybe he might have a portkey in his possession. If he's naked, well, he doesn't have possessions. And look, that's a dark mark, right there. He's a death eater. Could still be a pedo, and is certainly an illegal animagus, but he's a death eater, too!"

Amelia looked closer, then did a double take. "That's Peter Pettigrew," she declared.

"But he's dead! Black killed him!" the first auror, a young man by the name of Carmichael, declared.

"Um, he obviously didn't ," a female auror named Tonks answered.

"So why didn't it come out at Black's trial?" Carmichael asked

"He didn't have a trial," Harry said.

"What?" Amelia barked the question, spearing Harry with her eyes.

"Well, when you all were going spare because I was 'missing' and you thought Black got me, I decided I needed background information. I hired someone to get the transcripts of Black's trial – he didn't have one – and the details of the non-magical investigation." Harry told her of the conclusions of the non-magical aurors and she nodded solemnly.

Tonks, at that point, had started going through Pettigrew's filthy clothes, finding not one but two illegal portkeys, Pettigrew's wand, and a sinister wand that all three aurors knew to be Voldemort's.

"Ma'am, please, can you get some answers here? I know that you need to question him in front of the Wizengamot, but please. They were my parents." The head of the DMLE looked at the child, the hero, and knew that here she could do something to repay, at least partially, the wrongs done to this child.

At this point, Bones also recalled that one of the people who knew Pettigrew was in the castle and had her niece go get the defense professor.

By the time Lupin got in the room and saw Pettigrew, Bones had veritaserum at the ready. She nodded and gave the order for the veritaserum to be administered by Carmichael while Tonks ran the recording quill. She didn't realize that a WWN reporter had a camera and microphone on them the whole time.

It was that afternoon that the wizarding world first heard the interview of Peter Pettigrew (though it would be replayed, in its entirety, several times before all was said and done). They heard how he betrayed the Potters and blew up the muggles. They heard how he framed an innocent Sirius Black and placed himself with a wizarding family that allowed him to know what was going on in the wizarding world. They were sickened by the understanding that he was just waiting for a chance to kill Harry Potter and bring back the Dark Lord.

The only good news was that he did not ever abuse any children.

Within the hour, the order to kiss Black on sight was revoked, a full pardon and recompense petitioned for the man who had yet to be seen. It was an extremely angry public that pushed through a legal, binding trial on Peter Pettigrew within a week. His Order of Merlin was revoked; its payment recalled back from his family and put into the vault of Sirius Black. The gallery of the trial was packed and they heard a sniveling Pettigrew say that he did only what he had to in order to ensure he was on the winning side. The almost riotous crowd outside were ready to kill when they heard breaking news that Bartemus Crouch, who had not shown up for the trial, had his own son (whom the elder Crouch had obviously illegally released from Azkaban) under imperius in the basement of his own house. In the ensuing melee, the son had disappeared. The people inside the courtroom, however, did not hear that.

Dumbledore presided over the trial wondering again how this had come to pass. He had never doubted Sirius' guilt - as far as killing the traitor Pettigrew and all those innocent muggles - all those years back and saw no reason to put his own reputation to the test, especially as he had needed to use every marker he had to keep Severus out of prison. And yet, he felt he could have controlled this had he been at the castle the day of the unveiling. Instead, he now had the entire nation wondering how he had a murdering death-eater living in the dorms at Hogwarts for a handful of years. And how that same death eater, the one responsible for the slaughter in Godric's Hollow, had been in the same room as the Boy Who Lived for weeks.

He was highly suspicious of the fact that said Boy had not revealed the rat animagus until Dumbledore himself was out of the castle. But again, he could prove no wrongdoing on the child's part. He could prove no artifice. He only suspected.

He attempted to pass a requirement for Sirius Black to present himself to receive his pardon, but it was voted down. One of the more vocal of the opposing side stated that the last time Black had trusted British wizarding law, he'd ended up in Azkaban. A runner brought in a message to Madame Bones, and she interrupted the debate. I have a note from a healer, co signed by a solicitor that I know. Mr. Black is in the custody of healers, getting necessary treatment for 12 years of dementor exposure and malnutrition. It would be detrimental to his treatment for him to go into the hostile environment of the Wizengamot. He is doing well, understands that justice is now being fulfilled, and thanks us all. His exact words are: "better late than never". There were some nervous chuckles at this.

Black was officially cleared of all charges, no pardon was issued since he was never convicted of anything. In addition to the monetary compensation from the Pettigrew family, a formal apology and small monetary payment was issued.

Sirius listened to this on the WWN and laughed in shock. He was free. The rat was in chains. Barty Crouch – the fiend who had locked Sirius up without a trial – was headed to the docket himself. Sirius was getting help with his health– both mental and physical. He should be ready to take on the role of godfather by the summer hols.

After a few weeks, when the hullaballoo calmed, Remus Lupin, werewolf, defense professor and missing member of his father's pack, approached Harry and asked why the boy hadn't brought his concerns about the rat to a professor or to the headmaster. Harry, who had been enjoying his Christmas lunch at that point, simply shook his head and walked away. He had no doubt anything he said would make its way straight to the headmaster. This man had done nothing to earn Harry's confidence, so Harry simply ignored the request and any further forays into personal conversation with his honorary uncle.

Remus was confused, but hadn't really gotten the background on Harry's years at Hogwarts or with the Dursleys. Through his solicitor, Sirius eventually contacted Remus. Sirius explained that he wanted to be a bit more stable before talking to his old friend. When Remus got time off to visit, he met with Sirius in a neutral location in muggle Edinburgh. After having tracking charms both discovered and wiped off his person, Remus began discussing (read: loudly arguing) with Sirius about the integrity and rights of a certain bearded headmaster.

"Sirius, I know you've had a rough time of it, but you're being ridiculous. We have to trust Dumbledore."

Sirius put down his napkin and answered calmly, "Why?"

Remus sighed, "You know what he's done for me."

Arching an eyebrow, Sirius picked up his coffee cup. "Really? What's he done for you?"

"He gave me a place, an education… " Remus trailed off as Sirius interrupted.

"And how many others has he done that for? Hmm? None, right? I mean, if he was willing to host one werewolf BEFORE the advent of wolfsbane, why not host all of them now? He has a potion master ON STAFF. He could safely educate all of the bitten youth. Yet, he does not."

Remus's brow furrowed as he thought about Sirius's quite logical argument. Sirius took his silence as excuse to continue putting forth the arguments he'd come up with during his incarceration and months-long rehabilitation.

"How many of the new anti-wolf laws has he tried to stop, let alone repealing old laws?" Sirius continued. "He put you in a position where you got to taste the real life, but never did anything to help you realize that life. In short, he did nothing, really, for you, except offer you an education, which is his job. In return, what did he get?"

"Nothing. Sirius, he got nothing. And I did almost…" unable to continue, the werewolf trailed off. He had doubt in his mind for the first time in a long time.

"You didn't almost anything. I did. And nothing happened. But, I don't believe the headmaster educated you out of the goodness of his heart. Think of it this way: What was happening in the world when we were set to attend school?"

"Voldemort was rising," Remus whispered, already seeing with his brilliant brain where Sirius was going. The grim nodded grimly.

"Dumbledore had almost a century to observe the world. He saw other dark lords rise. I'll wager he saw this one rising while Voldemort was a Hogwarts student. Dumbledore knew what was coming, and he saw the disenfranchised flocking to the side of Voldemort. He needed spies. Notice how he's got that death eater potion master chained to his side, no matter the damage Snivellus is doing to the school. Same with the half-giant Hagrid and the half-goblin - though at least Flitwick is a credible teacher. And, I'm sorry to say it, but it's the same with you. " Stirring his second cup of coffee, Sirius saw that Remus was, at least, listening to him.

"He just wants a spy in all of the dark lord's allies' camps. You are a tool, Remus. Nothing more, nothing less. It's not personal, and I'm not saying he's evil or anything. He did give you an education and is now employing you, just as he does his other tools. What I'm saying is that you owe him nothing. He gave you an education; in return, he wants information. But you are under no obligation to give it. Think instead about James. He gave you friendship, true friendship, and loyalty with no hope of anything else in return. His orphaned son needs you. Who are you going to put first: Dumbledore or James? I need an answer before I let you near Harry."

"I'm surprised you trust me at all, given that I did nothing to confirm your guilt or innocence."

Sirius barked out a brief laugh. "Oh, none of us really trusted anyone else back then. Thing that got me, though, is that James named Peter as secret-keeper in his will. Dumbledore knew, Mooney. He knew I wasn't the secret keeper. He threw me in hell anyway." Remus's eyes lit with anger. "I think I figured out why, and it's just more evidence why I won't put Dumbledore before Harry ever again. See, I think Dumbledore believed I killed Peter and those muggles. But what would have happened if the public knew that I avenged Lily and James?"

"They'd have given you an award," Remus answered without hesitation.

"But the headmaster abhors killing. Didn't even kill that tosser Grindlewald, you know? Just put the wanker in prison. So, there I am, and there are a dozen or so dead folks, most of 'em innocent. He didn't hesitate. Just threw me away without looking back. If Harry's in the position where he has to decide to kill some dark lord or let him live…"

"Harry would never have to make that choice," Remus interrupted.

"We don't know that. That Boy Who Lived stuff makes the kid a target for some dark-lord-nutjob, Harry might have to kill him. Would you let the headmaster imprison Harry for that? Because he'd do his damndest to make it happen. I'm dead sure of it."

The final nail in the headmaster's proverbial coffin was the details of just how Harry had been treated at Privet Drive. It wasn't until he was shown evidence, that would very shortly be made public, of just how badly the headmaster had abused not just Sirius, but also Harry, that Remus came to Harry's way of seeing things. He looked back on the past decade, where he'd been kept from his nephew (in all but blood) and lied to. He became, for him (who was always extremely careful NOT to feed the wolf), quite angry. When he returned to the castle, he tendered his resignation, citing personal reasons. He never looked at Dumbledore with anything remotely resembling respect again.

Dumbledore knew why, and knew he'd lost the last marauder. He had no roads to the boy of prophecy now.

Additionally, it seemed that once again, the curse on the Defense position would get lip service. The best teacher they'd had in years chose not to renew his contract.

As the year ended, Dumbledore tried once more to find Sirius Black. He tried owls and patroni and even his phoenix. Sirius refused to be found. Black's ire was so bad that he hit Fawkes, a creature of light, with a confundus charm. Dumbledore tried all of his political clout to find a way to block Harry from staying with Sirius. Little did Dumbledore know that the other side could use the law, too.

A fortnight before end of term, a solicitor presented an order of protection to Dumbledore. To muggles, this document was also known as a restraining order. Dumbledore was required to stay away from Harry Potter and his legal guardian, Sirius Black. Embarrassingly, this document, with its explanation, was given to all of the instructors and staff at the school, so that none would break it unknowingly.

The Potter will had been opened, and it has been demonstrated that Dumbledore went against it, completely. He violated it, although he had been one of the witnesses. Evidence showed that Potter was placed in an extremely abusive home, one that his parents had expressly forbidden. The abuse was so extreme that physical effects were STILL being corrected, after almost three solid years of treatment. His rightful guardian, S. Black, who was also a known associate of Dumbledore, was imprisoned without a trial, whilst known death eater S. Snape was vouched for by same Dumbledore. Evidence showed illegal bindings on Potter's magic, compulsions, hexes, and curses that, in tandem, would make him invisible to most muggles who would help him. There was also evidence of tampering with muggle authorities to cover up the Dursley's illegal actions when those actions were so overt they did come to light. Though the magical signature in all cases had eroded, only Dumbledore knew where the Potter heir was living. In short, there was enough circumstantial evidence to support the idea that Dumbledore had done everything in his power to abuse, by proxy, the Potter heir. Even if abuse had not been his goal, it was obvious that Dumbledore has overstepped the line several times with the Potter heir, especially when there was never any indication in the will that Dumbledore was to have any contact with the child, whatsoever.

Dumbledore also stole from the Potter vaults, both money and heirlooms, and was complicit in allowing the "boy who lived" legend be used for profit, none of which was put in Potter vaults until litigation forced the issue. When the heirlooms were reclaimed and returned to the vault, Dumbledore tried, once again, to illegally remove them. Since the Potter heir had stated in no uncertain terms that Dumbledore was to be denied access to the Potter vaults, there was no way for the man to get around the goblins a second time.

The atmosphere at Hogwarts had been extremely unhealthy for the Potter heir, and several actions either committed by the headmaster or allowed by the headmaster had resulted in direct harm to the Potter heir.

In short, it became clear that AWBP Dumbledore did nothing to prevent harm to Harry James Potter, and was, in fact, instrumental in allowing harm perpetrated upon the boy. For this reason, he was required to maintain a distance of 50 feet from the child, was to perpetrate no magic upon his person or belongings, and was to demand no contact, either direct or by proxy, with the child.

There was more legalese, but those were the major points.

Dumbledore was stymied. How had it come to this? He had used Potter funds, yes, to purchase homes for the Dursleys and for Arabella Figg. He needed to put Harry in a safe place. Yes, he had bound Harry's magic, but only so that accidental magic would be limited, thus limiting the rage the Dursleys expressed in the presence of magic. Yes, he put compulsions and hexes and curses on the child, but they were simple muggle repelling charms, invisibility hexes, and a compulsion to be silent about his treatment at home and to keep a low profile. Hadn't he been kept alive through all those years when death eaters actively sought him? And hadn't his magic grown stronger by the binding of it?

As for the heirlooms… Hadn't he returned the cloak, the most important heirloom of all? The library was information and knowledge that should not be hoarded. Why should it rot in a Gringotts vault? Hadn't he shared the books whenever he saw someone who could use them? He'd forgotten completely that he had the box of belongings from his OWN house in Godric's Hollow. Yes, he had practically forced the Potters to hide in Dumbledore cottage. But their things had been in HIS house. He had originally taken the box to ensure that none of his own things were in it, locked in the Potter vault for all time. When it was time, he'd give it all to the child and they'd go through it together. He hadn't even opened that box. He would eventually have remembered to give it to Harry. But it was important that the child look forward not back.

He had not meant the whole Boy Who Lived legend to become so intense. Hagrid had been the one who leaked the knowledge that Harry had lived. Dumbledore had merely confirmed it. He'd never done a thing to encourage the books and dolls and every other BWL whatnot. Of course, he'd never stopped it, seeing a culture that loved Harry to be a good thing.

How had the child planned all this? Even now, the instruments that had, apparently falsely, beeped and whirled and puffed on his shelf were silent. After he removed the house elf charms – and wasn't that telling: like Lockhart, he'd been hoisted by his own petard – the instruments ceased functioning. The Potter blood had been removed – perhaps by that fanatical elf Harry had bonded to himself – and the elf charm made them appear to work. That elf also explained how the child had gotten his things back. Dumbledore didn't resent that Harry had gotten his parents' belongings… but that library. It was unfortunate that he'd never used the elder wand to remove the bookplates. The Potters had references on such a vast array of subjects. It was a shame that knowledge was under the control of one person again.

When Minerva had informed him at the beginning of the year that Harry had a writ threatening to sue Hogwarts for his treatment last year, it had been the first true sign that something was terribly amiss. Harry needed to learn to follow Dumbledore's guidance. He'd never been openly rebellious before, though he hadn't always acquiesced, either.

The child needed to take divination to understand the importance of the onus he was under. He didn't need arithmancy and runes. They were subjects for students who excelled – which Mr. Potter did not. He would be fine with divination, and tying himself to Hagrid further was not an issue for Dumbledore. He liked that Harry took creatures, as it pleased Hagrid to no end. Or it would have, had Harry not distracted Fudge with the destruction of Hagrid's pet spiders.

As for the treatment Harry had endured the previous year, yes, it was harsh. However, Dumbledore didn't think he needed to explain to the child that he needed to become inured to what people said about him. It's why he wanted that dratted notice me not charm gone. Whether he liked it or not, Harry Potter was a public figure. He needed to learn to walk with his head held high, whether he was falsely worshipped or falsely accused.

The only comfort Dumbledore had was that at least the boys magical training was coming along. He had defeated the shade of Tom twice now, as well as a pair of dementors, an acromantula, a troll, and a basilisk. It was only a matter of time before the final confrontation. The child needed to be prepared to sacrifice.

Hagrid, on the other hand, had taken to drinking. A great deal. He'd not been able to forget the diatribe that Harry had hit him with at the end of the first class. He saw how the other students were terrified of some of the creatures he brought out, and Malfoy was having Buckbeak put down. Beaky hadn't done nothing more to Malfoy than he'd done to Potter. But Malfoy was making a stink about it. At first, Hagrid justified his disgust by thinking that Potter and Malfoy were two sides of the same coin. But then he noticed the change in the forest. It was coming back to what it had been when Hagrid was a boy here at Hogwarts. More and more light creatures were returning– it had been a slow trickle at first, but now whole groups of creatures were coming back. He'd seen a colony of fairies move in just a few weeks ago. He asked the dryad he'd seen why she'd come to the forest and she said that the forest was happy and finally in balance again, what with the evil creatures being defeated. He asked what evil creatures, and she said the spiders.

The forest itself was happy because Aragog was dead. Hagrid just didn't understand it.

Then he overheard two of the teachers talking. Hagrid almost missed what they said, and its importance.

"I heard they found three human skeletons in the nest?" Professor Sinistra had quietly asked the deputy headmistress before a staff meeting.

"It was three adults and a child. One of the adult skeletons has been identified as a werewolf, and the other two adults were identified as poachers. But the child was Francis Loudon – his parents are absolutely furious as this opened all their wounds again." Minerva looked sick and tired and disgusted all at once.

Hagrid stopped breathing. Little Frannie Loudon used to help him with some of the groundwork. He was fantastic with the animals. He was dead because of Aragog.

Hagrid remembered Harry helping with Norbert, making sure that Norbert had a safe place to go.

And he now struggled with the information in the order of protection. At first he had been furious that Potter had disparaged the headmaster, then he saw the evidence, and he felt ill. Bound magic; physical, mental, and emotional abuse. Hagrid remembered what had happened when he picked Harry up before his first year – what those muggles had been like – how furious the healer had been. How much Harry had grown since then – it was obvious he'd had to have growth and healing potions, now that he really thought of it. And then he remembered that, yes, he had put Harry on that doorstep. Dumbledore had said to, but in the end, Hagrid had done it. And he'd terrified and angered those same animals by throwing a hex at their child. Animals that hated Harry and controlled his life. Had Harry not stepped in and taken that hex, what would they have done to him? And Harry had never, once, blamed him. Before now. He drank some more.

He realized that Harry had, indeed, kept him out of Azkaban. And that Harry was right to turn in Aragog. Aragog, to human wizards and witches, WAS a monster.

Hagrid was no coward, and apologized to Harry later, drunk as a lord and crying tears of self-recrimination and remorse. Harry couldn't keep the anger in his heart and gave Hagrid a hug. But he'd never really trust Hagrid again.

Harry got on the leaving express ready to do some horcrux hunting. He'd spent a good deal of time through the year tracking down what the horcruxes were. He figured out the ritual that made one (and wasn't THAT a pleasant sight) and scanned the memories for that so he could find the objects. From there, he found where the creep had hidden the objects and what protections there were on them. So, it was just a matter of undoing those (not that that was any easy task) and bleeding on the bleeding things.

First he'd have to convince Sirius and Remus of what he needed to do and why, but he was confident he'd be able to do so.

As the train puffed toward London, Harry could feel the beginning of the end and almost hummed in anticipation.


	6. Chapter 6

(Thus endeth year 3. Coming up: horcrux hunt light! The Flamels make an entrance! Harry gets mad AND gets even! And a tetra-wizard tournament that isn't covered at all! I don't do action. Seriously, though, this is the end. Hope you enjoyed this ramble. If you did or didn't you can let me know over in the reviews bar, where you can munch on stale oyster crackers while you type.)

From the Express, Lupin (who had taken the time to apologize to Harry and started to get to know him) took Harry to number 12 Grimmauld Place. This was, apparently, a Black property and was warded to the teeth. Sirius, newly given a clean bill of health from Astrid, knew he needed a safe place to hide Harry, from Dumbledore if no one else.

Sirius greeted Remus and Harry at the curb. After a manly handshake with the elder wizard and a hug and head-rub to Harry, Sirius waved his wand then gestured to the front door.

"Just added you both to the house welcome book. The place is a pile, but it's relatively safe. It's warded to China and back; we just need to clean it up. Up side? Don't care if you ruin anything, and you can use as much magic as you want."

Sirius then bellowed for his elf, a crotchety old thing by the name of Kreacher. The mad elf popped into the room. Upon seeing Kreacher, Harry immediately had a sense of déjà vu. "Hold on, Sirius. Just wait a mo."

Flipping through his mental files, Harry finally reconciled that Kreacher was the elf that Regulus Black – must be some relation to Sirius – had ordered to help Voldemort. The same elf that Voldemort left on an island in the middle of a lake of inferi. How could that elf be alive, let alone in house Black?

"Sirius, order Kreacher to explain everything that happened the last time Kreacher saw Voldemort."

"Kreacher promised good master Regulus to tell no one in his family. Kreacher cannot do."

Sirius sighed and ordered Kreacher to follow Harry's orders and left the room. Remus and Harry listened then as Kreacher told of taking boat in cave. Of drinking a vile potion. Of being left to die, but being required by elf magic to return to Master Regulus. Of Master Regulus's anger at Voldemort.

And then he spoke no more. His order had been to tell of Voldemort, but Harry honestly thought the emotion would not allow the elf to say more.

"What happened to Regulus?" Sirius had come back into the room, having eaves-dropped on the monologue through the doorway. His voice, never really recovered from Azkaban, cracked with sadness. "Kreacher. I order you to tell me."

"Master Regulus made me take him to the cave. We went back, through the lake of dead wizards and witches. Master Regulus drank evil potion. Ordered me to bring back locket and destroy it.," the elf stopped speaking. Harry was impressed with the loyalty of Kreacher, but he knew now why the elf was so bitter. With the protections on the horcrux, there was no way that any light-blooded creature, like an elf, would be able to destroy it.

"Sirius, order him to bring the locket," Harry stated quietly. Sirius looked at Harry with a question in his eyes – wouldn't the elf have destroyed it? And why would this boy want it? But Harry had saved him. He trusted James's boy with his life. He would do as Harry asked.

"Kreacher, bring the locket." The elf looked as though he wanted to murder someone, but Sirius had already given orders that Kreacher could not physically or magically harm anyone that had been declared friend in the house.

Kreacher popped out of the room, then popped back in, ready to kill the filthy halfblood in his house. Then the boy looked at Kreacher. "Would you mind getting some help in destroying the evil locket?"

Kreacher would not trust, but his master told him to obey.

"Just hold it still, and be careful," the hateful boy said calmly. Harry pulled out a little knife and Kreacher wanted to laugh. But Master has ordered him to hold still as filthy halfblood asked. Then halfblood started speaking in language of snakes and the locket opened in his hands. Only the command from his master, ordering stillness, kept him from dropping the thing. It spoke. It whispered horrors even Kreacher's bent mind were scared of. But the filthy boy cut his own finger and bled three drops onto the open locket. By the first drop, it had stopped whispering; by the second it was screaming and smoking. By the third, it was silent and felt clean.

"OK, Kreacher, it's done. You can move. And I think Sirius would agree with me when I say, Regulus would be proud, and you should keep the necklace, in his honor." Harry vanished what was left of his own blood while Kreacher stood, stunned.

Kreacher held in a cry and battled for composure. As his master dismissed him, he bowed stiffly then popped to his bed. He had much to think on.

Meanwhile, Sirius and Remus cornered Harry. "What on Earth was that?" Remus asked.

"Long story. Drinks? I could really use something stronger than water." Harry sighed.

So they sat: the men with firewhiskey, Harry with a butterbeer. "OK, so when Voldemort died, he didn't die. His body died, but his spirit stayed. I know this because, well, I've fought his spirit twice now. My first year at Hogwarts, the defense professor, Quirrel, was possessed by Voldemort. He kidnapped me at year-end, after trying to kill me a few times, but in the end, my mere touch vaporized his body."

Lupin's eyes narrowed. "I heard something of this in the staff room. Something about Flamel's philosopher's stone?"

"Yes. Dumbledore had hidden it in the school as bait for a Voldie trap. It worked. Anyway.

"Last year, someone opened the Chamber of Secrets. Its monster started petrifying kids. Students and staff alike blamed me because I'm a parselmouth. But it wasn't me. It ended up, once again, being Voldemort. He had possessed a student this time, using a diary. The monster in question was a frigging huge basilisk. And I killed it. But it bit me first." At this point, he pulled the collar of his shirt aside and showed the bite mark. "The basilisk venom coursed through my veins. The only reasons I'm alive? Well, first off, I have pieces of the philosopher's stone in my blood, since the confrontation in my first year. This lets me heal pretty quickly. Second, Fawkes the phoenix cried a whole BUNCH of tears into the wound. They heal anything. But he had waited a bit. And the venom got around just about my whole body. Some of it reached my scar.

"And then a battle occurred. I don't know how else to say it. You see, there was a part of Voldemort IN MY STINKING HEAD. In my scar. My healer knew it was the blackest of magics, but she couldn't tell what it was, exactly. The basilisk venom started to kill it – so it woke up and tried to possess me. Luckily for me, I'm pretty stubborn, and I don't like being controlled. So I fought. I won. I now have a copy of most of the memories of Voldemort in my head, and I got a good amount of his magic. I've been organizing his memories and I found what he did. He made something called horcruxes – vile things – that allow you to put parts of your torn off soul into objects. I know what objects he used and how he hid them.

"The other thing that happened was, once the battle was over, I sat up. The Ghost Riddle stood there, smirking, thinking I was dead. I picked up the diary that had been the horcrux that had possessed little Ginny Weasley. I was going to stick the sword through it, but the sword was stuck in the snake. Then I remembered the fang I'd pulled from my own shoulder, and figured I'd skewer the diary with that, since there was basilisk venom it still, and I figured it couldn't hurt. But my own blood smeared on the book, and it started to scream and smoke. My own blood is Voldemort bane," he paused, taking a sip of his butterbeer, and smiled. The two men in the room just gaped, trying to process what he'd told them.

"Oh, by the way, did you know Voldemort is really an anagram? His real name is Tom Marvolo Riddle, and he told me his mom was a witch – probably a squib, since there's no record of her being on the rolls at Hoggy Hoggy Hogwarts – and his dad was a muggle. Pretty ironic, yeah?" Sirius chuckled without humor while Lupin just shook his head.

"So, anyway. I've spent the last year searching his memories for where these soul pieces are. That one," he pointed toward the door where the elf had gone, "really worried me, because the protections are completely insane. A lake of inferi is the nicest one of them."

"How many more are there?" Remus asked

"Well, there were five, that he purposefully made before that Halloween. And then me. So that's six. The diary was the first. That's done. The diadem of Ravenclaw was at Hogwarts, and I got that one this year. This locket of Slytherin was the last one he made. And of course the one in my head is done. There's two left: Hufflepuff's cup – and I think you can get that one, Sirius – and there's the Slytherin ring. We'll need help with that one. But I think I have someone that can help."

"Dumbledore will be watching your moves," Sirius stated flatly.

"Dumbledore will be busy. Back in March, after you were officially listed as my guardian, I sent a note to Robbie to evict my tenants. That's the Dursleys and Arabella Figg." Harry didn't smile. He wasn't glad. He was simply determined. Those who had profited from his misery would no longer do so. They wouldn't have to pay him back, but they would be forced to own their actions, or lack of action. Arabella Figg, when questioned, had apparently had the same attitude toward magical kids as Argus Filch. She was quite happy that she'd lived off the fat of the Potter fortune for years while the Potter heir starved.

Her hearing was set for a week's time in front of the wizengamot. They would almost certainly not be pleased.

The Dursleys had, at first, protested loud and strong at the loss of property. Robbie was told that if they gave any trouble, he was to let loose the hounds of war.

The truth rang out in the streets of Little Whinging: the Dursleys had never paid rent, never paid taxes, never paid utilities. The estate of the "delinquent" they'd housed had done so. Suddenly, the stories in the neighborhood changed. The kids told how Dudley Dursley ran a gang that beat smaller children, especially Potter. People remarked on how Harry had always been quiet and polite and certainly, now that they really thought about it, looked mistreated. One of Petunia's "friends" even told stories of how Petunia bragged that kept the child in a boot cupboard. She couldn't say why she'd never talked about it before, but the bobbies had collected evidence supporting the tale.

Robbie had gone to town removing the memory blocks and curses and hexes on the locals, and the Dursleys paid the price. Now, gossip was the least of their concerns. They were headed to prison, and prison for child abusers was a special kind of hell. Harry told Sirius and Remus of the updates, and how Dumbledore would be the next target of inquiry. "Dumbledore will be facing charges for misappropriations of funds and abetting child abuse in front of the Wizengamot, right after his pal, Figg. I think that should keep him busy."

The evening closed and the trio went to bed, ready to start their summer with the air cleared.

The three men – two men and a not quite man – worked non-stop, cleaning and banishing. Harry's elves helped and eventually Kreacher did the same. The lady of the house was shocked to hear from her elf what had happened to her younger son, though she still hated the older one. Not knowing how to reconcile it, she remained silent for the rest of the summer.

When the Flamels came by in July to meet Harry, Harry was very glad to meet them but felt guilty still about the whole philosopher's stone thing. They smiled, saying that it was not his fault, and at least his little hunt would bring some excitement. Harry went on to tell them the good news about the ones he'd already broken. He brought out his magic-null box, which contained the tiara and the diary. Kreacher brought the locket. Flamel felt them and nodded, feeling the scar on Harry's head. He looked directly into Harry's eyes.

"You know where the others are?" He asked, seriously.

"Yep," Harry deadpanned. Flamel indicated that he should elaborate.

"Sirius is going to have to work through the ministry and Gringotts, quietly, to claim the Lestrange vault. The cup of Hufflepuff is in there. Maybe he can just work it so that he gets into the vault to 'look for' Black family heirlooms. He just has to drop my blood into it. That will kill the horcrux.

"But the last one is the hard one. The Gaunt family ring is buried under the Gaunt family shack. It has parselmagic guarding it and extensive traps, including a compulsion hex and a withering curse. Nasty stuff."

The four adults planned for the raid on the shack, arguing the pros and cons of simply burning it up with fiendfyre versus possibly alerting Voldemort's allies as to their actions. In the end, Harry convinced them to simply break the wards, using his help, as he knew what was there and he was a parslemouth. When they got the ring, finally, and broke all the curses and compulsions, Sirius placed a drop of Harry's blood on it, testing to see if that would be enough to kill a horcrux.

It was.

Sirius handed Harry the ring, joking that he could probably claim the Gaunt legacy, such as it was, due to conquest. Seven times over.

Harry smiled and took the ring. Then, looking more deeply at the stone, he seemed to recognize something about it, innately. He placed it with the family invisibility cloak in a mokeskin bag he'd picked up at the second-hand store that summer and put it out of his mind.

The adults decided that, even though they still had one more horcrux to go, they wanted to celebrate. The Flamels stated that they hadn't had so much fun in decades and invited the other three to their chateau in France for the Christmas holidays.

The high couldn't last, of course. Death Eaters caused a ruckus at the quiddich world cup; though they didn't know it, Harry, Sirius and Remus were in a race with someone who was desperately trying to bring Voldemort back. The son of Bartemius Crouch – unrepentant death eater that the hypocritical Crouch had freed from Azkaban only to imprison him under imperius in his own home, was searching for and eventually found Voldemort's roving spirit. Just days after the shard from the ring was exorcised, Barty Junior was able to tie his master's spirit to the Earthly plane in a homunculus formed from the body of a toddler whose identical twin had been slaughtered in the black, sacrificial ritual.

Once in this body, Voldemort struggled to make one last horcrux, having felt the destruction of one or more of his treasures. The process was not at all what it had been before, and it was then Voldemort realized he could not complete the process. His remaining soul was too small to fraction; any more destruction and the remaining part would dissipate. Frustrated, he stewed in his weak, humanoid body, wondering at the awful truth that he was just one short step from eternal damnation. The snake would still be necessary for its venom and its sheer fear factor, but it would not be his last horcrux.

Plans had to be made, and Voldemort, no matter his form, was a master planner. He heard from Barty of the tri-wizard tournament that was to take place at Hogwarts and that his turncoat follower, Karkaroff, would be on Hogwarts grounds. Ordering the slavish Crouch to return to Britain, Voldemort planned, plotted, and thrived.

Harry spent the last few weeks of summer in his last treatment. It was harder to be patient this time because he was so close to being well, and also because he has a family that he wanted to spend time with now. But this treatment was, potentially, the most important. Bones that he would need to be placed in a magical coma to replace, such as those in his skull, would be done. It wouldn't take days, but it was potentially very dangerous. Harry went in determined, and he was not disappointed.

In the end, he was whole, healthy, and hearty. His magic was mastering the talents that original dose of liquid luck had primed him for. His family, though odd, was large and nurturing.

Harry, for the first time in his life, was truly content. He really didn't even want to go back to Hogwarts. Even though Dumbledore had been hamstrung, he was still at Hogwarts. Granted, he was headmaster in name only. The governors would be taking a VERY active stance this year, and Dumbledore was only in place still due to his ardent self-defense. He'd exposed many of his secrets in his self-justification, and some who remembered the days after the war understood that Dumbledore was truly trying to protect the magical world. However, no headmaster could truly justify child abuse. If it weren't for a special circumstance occurring at the school that year, Dumbledore would have been dismissed. Sirius and Remus turned Harry loose on the Hogwarts express, promising to keep in touch and pull Harry from the school at the first hint of trouble.

The school year started, for Harry, much as the others (always excepting the dreaded second year) had. Silly sorting song, endless sorting, blathering from the bearded weirdo. The only difference was the addition of Madame Longbottom to the head table. She was watching Dumbledore's every move like a hawk, and the whole school knew it.

The announcement of the Tri-Wizard tournament was met with excitement on the part of most students and dread on the part of Harry. He just knew, no matter what the "protections" were, he'd be shanghaied into the competition.

When his name flew out of the goblet, he looked angrily resigned. So much for a normal year. He'd had both Sirius and Remus investigating the tournament since it was announced, so he had an idea of what he was up for. His fellow students, always eager to get their exercise through leaping to conclusions, instantly condemned him for cheating to get his name into the goblet. He simply put on his charm and avoided them all, all of the time. The only students he ever spoke to were those in his study group, and they commiserated with his forced participation. Even Susan and Ernie, proud Hufflepuffs, knew that Harry hadn't entered himself. But they weren't vocal in this belief, and he didn't blame them.

Gryffindor was the one house that didn't openly condemn him. Between the stalwart support of Neville (whose grandmother was now headmistress in all but name) and Hermione and the vocal backing of all of the Weasleys (who'd learned from their own experiences two years prior), any loud lions who would have given Harry trouble were silenced.

As in his second year, the staff was divided as to his intents. In the faculty room one afternoon soon after the drawing, there was a discussion about the situation while the members of faculty were waiting for Dumbledore to arrive.

"Remember when he forced you to change his schedule at the beginning of last year?" Flitwick said to McGonagall.

"Yes, he forced my hand like a Slytherin," she almost sneered. Flitwick ignored the disdain in her voice.

"I can't see him being in this tournament without it being a real problem. He didn't put his own name in, certainly," Flitwick continued.

"He loves the attention, just like his father," Snape grimaced. He had thought he was wrong about Potter, but apparently the genes were strong.

"He wears a notice me not charm," Bathsheba babbling stated. Snape asked what she was talking about. "Oh, I have mage sight. I started monitoring him, as the behavior of those around him is different in class than outside of it. He wears a notice me not, and turns it off only in class."

"That would explain why the students don't stalk him. Wore it first year too I'll bet," Madame Hooch interjected.

"That must be what the house elf magic was," McGonagall said, and at the questioning looks she got, she explained. "Part of the writ was suing for house elf magic on one of his possessions. It must have broken his notice-me-not charm."

"So that he was noticed his second year," Babbling concluded.

"Yes," Flitwick said. "He asked me why it wouldn't work, and I didn't know. Dumbledore asked me to get him to give it up his first year and I wouldn't. I thought the headmaster had talked Mr. Potter into it until he asked me about it. After how he was treated his second year… I doubt he'll ever walk in the wizarding world without it again."

"We were all guilty there," said Sinistra.

"He's a decent boy and a decent student, though with his planning, and with his not-so-secret study group I'd think he'd be better," Sprout injected.

Flitwick laughed.

"Why are you laughing?" She asked

"The boy is a solid E student. Correct?" At the nods from the other faculty, he continued, "Has he ever gotten an O?" Furrowed brows and shakes of heads revealed the answer to be no. "Has he ever gotten an A?" Again, the answer was no. "What are the chances, Professor Vector, of a student ALWAYS earning EXACTLY E grades?" Flitwick asked finally with a smile on his face.

"A normal E grade would be an average. If he's always earning E's, he knows, easily, what makes an O and takes it… down," she stumbled to the conclusion.

"He's playing down his performance," McGonagall was aghast and at the same time, had grudging respect for the thought the boy had put into this act.

"Again, in a totally Slytherin manner," Snape sighed.

"He wants nothing more than to learn and leave. I'm sure of that. He wants nothing to do with this tournament. I'd go so far as to say he isn't even all that interested in magic. He was raised in the muggle world, which he still calls the 'normal' world. We've denied him access to Hogsmeade, last year because of the dementors, and now this year, because of the tournament," Flitwick went on.

"I think the Headmaster has plans for him," McGonagall said.

"I think he'll be disappointed," Snape replied sourly.

And then, Dumbledore and Longbottom entered the room and the conversation ended, though none of the teachers forgot the conclusions drawn. They watched the Potter boy, and they noted all of the conclusions held. He knew the material, easily. He simply wanted to draw absolutely no attention to himself. With the way some in the school were gunning for him due to his entry into the tournament (no matter that all of the faculty, at the command of the governors, had confirmed that Potter had not entered his own name), it was easy to understand why he wanted to remain below notice.

One place he could not underplay his performance, though, was the tournament. As he sat in the tent waiting for the first task to begin, he reviewed his strategy. Hagrid, the repentant giant, had revealed to Harry that Norbert, now known as Norberta, had returned to Hogwarts for the tournament. This meant Harry would be doing something with a dragon. He reviewed his arsenal and decided that, really, being unnoticed always worked best for him. So, in this "fight" he would be going for (and had practiced until he perfected) full disillusionment – sight, scent, sound, pressure, heat. A conjured distraction in the form of a tasty-looking stag finished the package. That the stag was a patronus shouldn't matter, he didn't think. He was right. He finished the task in moments, and only the clock stopping told the audience that Harry'd retrieved his prize: a golden egg from Norberta's nest.

He didn't bother taking off the camouflage charms as he stalked out of the arena and back to the castle. The audience cheered to an empty stadium, and they didn't know it. When he never showed up for his score, they were disappointed and angry. But Harry couldn't care less.

Between tasks, Harry took to wearing elder wand all the time. He had scheduled his GCSE exams in December, and was planning on taking the International O levels for magic in June. Nicholas was setting it up for him.

Under great protest from Dumbledore via Flitwick, Harry left the castle for Christmas. The very morning of the leaving train, Flitwick attempted to stop Harry.

"The Headmaster believes you should stay here; your presence is, after all, required for the Yule Ball," Flitwick stated, one again towing the party line instead of standing up for his student.

Harry had had enough. "Look, I've done your tournament requirements. But there is nothing in the rules that says I have to attend a ball. I deserve to spend Christmas as I like. I am NOT a prisoner. Hogwarts administration has NO RIGHT to hold me here over break. I'm not asking for special privileges. I'm not asking for preferential treatment. I'm asking to be left alone, as is my RIGHT." He said no more, simply walked out the door with his trunk and cat. Flitwick was stunned that his student had talked back – no matter the crazy interactions they'd had in the past, Harry had been respectful – and he lost sight, literally, of the young wizard. Dumbledore ordered the train stopped, but Harry was not to be found.

He'd known Dumbledore would pull a stunt like this, and had planned accordingly with a portkey. As soon as he'd cleared the castle's wards, he'd portkeyed to London.

After taking his GCSE's, he, along with Sirius and Remus, went to spend Christmas with the Flamels, as they had been invited. There, the ancient couple showed the British wizards around Paris and Marseille. Though the marauders had been to both cities, it was different to be guided by such knowledgeable denizens. It was rare for anyone to be able to tell stories of Napoleon's action first hand.

While they were in France, the Flamels asked if they could test Harry's magic, as it had, as Nicholas stated, a "familiar flavor" to it. It seemed that the incorporation of the stone into Harry's person had made him a magical heir to the Flamels. Though Harry was embarrassed and not a little worried about their reactions, the ancient couple reassured him. They were proud to have such an heir, and they were reassured that, when they finally passed in a few years, they would have someone to leave their effects (and memories) to made them somehow more content with the inevitable. They would die in a few years, but now they knew they would be remembered.

Sirius was able, after some fancy "head of house Black" politicking, to get into the LeStrange Gringotts vault sometime before the second task. Though he was not able to take the cup of Hufflepuff out of the vault, he dropped blood on it, and it screamed. The goblin with him made no comment, but Sirius thought he saw grudging approval on the creature's face.

Unfortunately, it was all for not. Dumbledore, trying to get Sirius to cooperate with him in regards to Harry, revealed that Snape had been complaining that his mark continued to darken. That meant Voldemort was returning. To Sirius, it meant the dork lord had found another way to anchor his spirit. He may have made another horcrux.

Harry couldn't find it within himself to worry. He had a tournament to survive and O levels to study for.

The second task went by quickly. Harry was required to save Ginny Weasley, again, and had no problem doing so with his use of gilly weed. He had made a point of asking the judges just exactly what or who he was supposed to save, since there were very few people in the castle that he would miss. The disdain in his voice was not at all masked, and though he handily won the task, he lost more admirers.

To him, it was no great loss.

In the last task, Harry again excelled. He had gotten to the point, with his practical training, that he could have passed NEWTs. The theory wasn't quite there, but he was silent casting with the best of them. When he got to the end of the maze, he noticed the cup was a portkey. He refused to touch it, but instead sent off sparks. The judges noticed that he was in the center and lowered the maze. The other contestants had barely entered the maze. None were near the center. But Harry refused to touch the cup. It was clear who had won, and it was clear that he refused to win.

Karkaroff managed, through the judicious use of banishing charms, to push the cup into Harry, anyhow. It meant revealing that he had been the one working against the Boy Who Lived, and giving up his treachery-won freedom, but he had little choice. Better alive in Azkaban than plaything for the Dark Lord's enforcers.

Harry was transported to a place unknown, but this was a tactic he had heard of and prepared for. Apparently, death eaters had liked to do this in the war, and Sirius had portkeyed him a number of times to get him used to the tactic.

Harry landed and hit the ground rolling. Prepared. He pulled out the elder wand in his left hand to match the holly in his right. First, he ducked out of the way of a stunner, returning fire and killing Crouch. Jr. with a severing charm. Next, he slaughtered a charging, gargantuan snake with a reducto. All that was left was an evil baby-thing.

Harry could see, somehow, that it was Voldemort.

"You're done," Harry sneered at the baby-thing who was trying to hit him with legilimency. "You're over. Your horcruxes have been eliminated, and now, you're going to be, too."

Harry sat and waited patiently until someone traced the portkey. Aurors showed up, astonished to see dead snake and dead Crouch. They were stymied by the evil baby thing. Unspeakables were called to the scene. Those men? Women? Took the baby thing, ostensibly to study it. They did so for a day, then decided to throw it through the veil, over Dumbledore's protests. He wished to study the baby thing, himself, as he was convinced it was Voldemort. All the more reason, the unspeakables argued, to kill it. And so they did.

Across the country, dark-marks disappeared. The faithful in Azkaban saw this as the final loss, and many gave up any hope at that point. Most died quickly, dreams of freedom, so recently shored up with the strengthening dark mark, turned to ash with their blemish-free forearms. Most were quick to die; Bellatrix LeStrange held on the longest, but she, too, eventually succumbed to the loss of hope.

The dark marks were not the only thing to disappear. Harry Potter disappeared, also.

He took his international O levels, acing them all. A note of withdrawal was sent to Hogwarts with the grade report.

Dumbledore, perusing the withdrawal in the office he was packing to prepare for his "retirement" refused to believe that the fight was over. He sat with his spy, Severus Snape. That potions master had spent many evenings that summer in silent thanks to the Boy Who Lived for giving Severus Snape a second chance at life. He never knew how dirty the mark made him until he finally felt clean.

"I am troubled, Severus. The dark marks might be gone, but the prophecy is unfulfilled."

Snape laughed, and the sound was not as foreign as it had been previously.

"How many times does that child have to defeat the dark lord for you to believe? It's done, sir. It's done, and he's gone."

"I'll force him back."

"You cannot. You are still under direction to leave him alone. It's time to bow out of the game, sir, while you still have some clout."

Snape left Dumbledore's office while the man himself moved to a window. "Where are you, young Mr. Potter?"

That young man was enjoying a well-earned holiday. Though Master Lee still had him working daily, the setting of the work was different each week. He'd camped in forests, on the beach, and even in downtown London. When summer ended, Harry moved to his finally-refurbished manor and took on tutors. He would go on to study for international A levels and regular A levels through those tutors, his godfather and honorary uncle, and of course Master Lee.

Eventually, when Dumbledore's influence (including his lackeys) was completely gone from Hogwarts, Harry would return the diadem of Ravenclaw and the sword of Gryffindor to the school. Sirius, who had inherited the LeStrange vault upon Bella's death, donated the chalice of Hufflepuff and the locket of Slytherin (that enabled the bearer to speak parsletongue) along with copies of the books on healing parselmagic to the school also.

Harry destroyed the diary, but the ring he studied. And studied some more.

Evientuallly, he studied the ring, the cloak and the wand together. And he recalled that wizarding child's tale of the Wizards Three and Death. And he somehow just knew.

"Am I now the master of death?" Harry asked, wearing the three Peverell heirlooms.

Master Lee laughed. "You never cease to amuse, Mr. Potter. Truly, it means little, just that you have a bit more power over ghosts. For example, if a ghost is stuck on the Earthly plane, you can free him."

"Master Lee, do you want to be free?" Harry asked, though it would rip out a part of his very heart to lose his first true friend and guide.

Master Lee looked at Harry and smiled. "When you have finished your education, when you are a master of your own, Harry Potter, I will move on. You can help me then. You can help others – there are others who want to move on but are trapped. You can help them, if they wish. But until then, I think it is time you get back to your studies, no?"

Harry grinned. "That sounds like a plan."

Holy Cow. I finished it.

Hope you enjoyed. Thus ends my current foray into fanfic. There are some things in the hopper... but they are far from polished and so will remain in the dark for a while.

Thanks for reading!


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